2007 - The Dead Pool (8 page)

‘
That was a short visit, Miss. Thanks for coming anyway. Enjoy the rest of your day
.’

She smiled at the elderly security-guard and walked out into the grounds, choosing a shaded, corner bench. The mobile had been left at home intentionally. To keep her choices open. If she did decide to opt out, then she’d use a payphone and no one could call her back to persuade her otherwise. What was the time? Damn, they’d all be there by now. She listed the options in her mind. Go home? No, she wanted to be out and enjoy some of the day. Go back into the gallery? Go to the picnic? Mentally, she plotted her journey. All she had to do was go round the back of the gallery, down the steps past the wooded area, over the footbridge and she’d have arrived
.

Slowly she got to her feet, pushing her sunglasses firmly back into place. The sun’s glare was merciless today. She approached the first flight of steps, peering to her left to see when the river came into view. She caught a glint of the Cauldron and veered off the pathway steps to her left. Then she picked her way carefully through undergrowth, trees and fallen branches, until she was satisfied with her vantage point. Ally and lona were just arriving. Kisses and hugs all round. Morag looked tense, unhappy. Ally seemed in cockier mood than usual. lona was already taking her clothes off in as close proximity to Craig and Fraser as possible
.

‘
Darling Fraser, spread that rug out for me, would you? Morag that sarong is
absolutely
gorgeous. It’s new? You must tell me where it’s from. I shall copy you. I need one for my hols
.’

Her overloud, super-confident tones were carrying easily across the still waters of the Cauldron. Bonnie sighed. Could she hear it? A whole day with lona, with them all?

She began to stand up from her crouching position, and froze halfway. Surely Ally couldn ‘t have heard her? Nor seen her behind all this foliage. But he was staring directly over to where she was. She caught his frowning look of puzzlement before he turned away to accept a glass of wine
.

As she rejoined fellow path-users and gallery visitors on the steps, she made up her mind. She’d go to the picnic. But not yet. Not without emotional preparation. She badly needed a meditation. Somewhere in the gallery grounds there would be a quiet spot
.

An hour later, Bonnie paused just before the wooden bridge. This was her last chance. She could flee back up the steps to the gallery grounds. Or step on to the bridge and be swallowed up by the revelry, deafened by the drunken yells of greeting. She could hear them clearly now. Fraser was singing a guttural rendition of ‘Flower of Scotland’, at the top of his voice like some oafish football fan, Ally egging him on at every chorus. lona’s bray could be heard somewhere in the distance, with Craig’s answering laughter floating across the water. Only Morag’s voice was absent
.

Bonnie took up her surveillance position again, peering through the foliage. They were all in sight. Fraser’s football was stranded halfway across the Cauldron. She could hear him simultaneously curse and laugh as he stumbled, thigh deep in water, on his way to retrieve it. She smiled. Maybe it wouldn’t be that bad after all. Fraser seemed on a high today and…well, he was at his best then. She watched his slim, bronzed torso twist as he reached for the ball and turned to throw it back to shore. With a firmer step than before, she moved out on to the footbridge and caught his eye
.

He tried a wave. ‘Yo! At last. My day is made!’ At that, his footing eventually gave way and he fell back, the waters of the Cauldron momentarily enveloping him. She felt a fleeting tug of anxiety as his waving arm disappeared under the water. But, within seconds, he re-emerged, the soaking tendrils of his shoulder-length hair plastered over his face. Laughing and spluttering, he shook his head violently, the halo of spray radiating off him, refracted by the still searing rays of the late-afternoon sun into a rainbow of liquid colour. Bonnie stopped halfway across the bridge, amazed. He looked like some Greek god today. She should be glad to be here
.

So why wasn’t she? What was really bothering her? It wasn’t just the irritation factor of some of the others. No, that was an excuse. She felt something more significant than that…wary? Afraid. How foolish. Today would be tense at times. She was certain of that. Surely nothing more than that. But the feeling was there. Niggling away somewhere deep in her mind. A premonition of something fearful?

If so, of what?

‘Y
ou still enjoy coming here, don’t you? I think that’s a bit weird. But then that’s you all over, isn’t it, Bonnie lass?’

She ran ahead with a laugh, skipping away from his grasp, and then came down to earth again. Fraser had a habit of doing that to her. Making her momentarily joyful, and then leaving her annoyed, furious even. And guilty. Guilty that she could let out even one little giggle. At this of all places! She watched as he booted a bit of old tree branch along the river path, lost in thought now. In football shirt, shorts and trainers, she could imagine he was half his age. An unruly adolescent, instead of the self-made builder and property developer he now was, with an ex-wife and young son somewhere in the past. She looked at him more closely as he scuffed the branch along the path. His face had changed. He looked downcast, sad, older.

They were at the Cauldron now. She wandered over to the wall by the weir, kicked off her litde fabric Chinese slippers, and sat down, bare feet dangling above the water, the golden polish on her toenails causing an array of spangles to sparkle in the sunlight. She wriggled her toes and blurred her eyes, imagining the spangles were shiny-scaled litde fishes, leaping salmon-like out of the river. Then she lifted her head and watched as Fraser gave the tree branch one final boot that pitched it into the centre of the Cauldron with a loud splash. He manoeuvred himself on to the low wall beside her, discarding his trainers over his shoulder with a flourish. They watched the ripples from the branch make increasingly wide circles on the previously unspoilt surface of the water. She felt momentarily happy again. Just the two of them. Like children, their two pairs of suntanned legs swaying in unison, relaxed, as if they hadn’t a care in the world. All was quiet except for the gentie shushing of the weir, the water low even by summer standards. His eyes were fixed on to the tree branch and she matched his stare. The effect was mesmeric as the branch glided its slow way towards them. Bonnie waited until it reached the weir, where it tumbled over to meet deeper waters, and caught the current for its final journey downstream.

She picked some loose stones from the wall and began tossing them randomly at the weir. ‘I’ve been thinking about Ally, about how it’s getting near the anniversary and everything. And I thought it’s important to get down here again. I used to come out here quite a lot before I went away. What about you? How many times d’you think you’ve been here since…since last year?’

He didn’t answer. Just continued staring at the spot where the branch had gone over. She felt him tense up and noticed that the previously carefree motion of his dangling feet had come to a halt.

‘Look, I’m sorry, Eraser. It’s just that I haven’t seen you for ages and I won—’

Without warning he reached a hand out to her and laid it on her shoulder, his eyes not shifting from the spot on the weir that so transfixed him. ‘Ssh, Bonnie. Enjoy the moment.’

She sat, her legs stilled now too, enjoying the light but firm touch of his warm hand. It had been too long since he, since anyone, had touched her. She strained against the urge to turn towards him, to lift that welcome hand and place it elsewhere.

Alistair Sutherland stood up from the low log, the movement causing a flurry of scuttling insects to and from the peeling bark of his makeshift seat. A stone’s throw away he could see Eraser, head hanging, with a hand on Bonnie’s shoulder. He looked nothing short of miserable. As for her? Well, she looked surprised and…and, what else? Almost happy, the hint of a smile playing round that surprisingly generous mouth. Yes, for someone so slim, so bird-like, she would have some unexpected charms to offer the right kind of man. To hear what she’d said had been impossible. But, whatever it was, Eraser wasn’t responding. Not verbally anyway.

It was a surprise to find them here. Yet, by the law of averages, given how often he visited, it was only a matter of time before he bumped into one or the other. It wouldn’t really matter if they saw him, should they decide to cross the bridge into the wooded area. He wasn’t exactly hiding. Just making his pilgrimage. But he preferred to do that,
had
to do that, alone. What he was certain about, though, was that he didn’t want to see Morag Ramsay here. Fat chance. From what he’d heard, she wouldn’t dare cast her shadow. But what he’d do should she turn up…

A sound from behind had him swivelling round. Someone was coming down the steps from the grounds of the art gallery high above. Time to disappear. He moved swiftly off to his left, picking his way through the foliage until he was deeper into the wooded area. He could have found his way blindfold to the spot. There was no evidence of anything untoward now. Just the images in his mind. There day and night. lona. Gone. In an instant. Gone.

He parted the branches in front of him. To his right he spied a solitary walker crossing the footbridge from his side of the river. A gallery visitor enjoying a post-culture stroll?

After a brief glance at the figures of Bonnie and Fraser, the walker turned to the right and marched briskly away. Alistair smiled to himself. The two of them hadn’t even looked up. Lost in their own thoughts. Thoughts of what exactly?

She couldn’t stand it any longer. Shifting to face Fraser, Bonnie put her hand over his and moved it down to her lap. ‘Why won’t you talk to me? I’ve been phoning and phoning and phoning. Ally too. You’ve both been ignoring me. Like I don’t exist!’

He was allowing her to keep his hand. At last he’d decided to look at her. ‘I told you. I’ve been in Spain, working on a couple of properties. And…and I needed to get out of here for a while. Get some sun. Put some distance…’ He looked away from her and turned back to his river-watching. ‘I’m surprised you have to ask. You’ve been playing the disappearing act too. The only one who hasn’t is Ally, and he’s just doing the ‘I want to be alone’ thing. You’re not the only one he’s been ignoring. He won’t answer my calls, emails, anything. It’s absolute shit, Bonnie.’

She sensed he wasn’t finished and stayed silent, watching his breathing quicken, his face tighten. He looked close to tears. Suddenly, he wrenched his hand away. Without a word, he raised his legs, spinning his body rapidly through a hundred and eighty degrees, until his back was facing the Cauldron. He reached down for his trainers, hurriedly shoving one on and fumbling with the laces. ‘And now they’ve let that bitch Morag go.’

His outburst had taken her aback. She’d seen him angry, furious, only a handful of times.

‘What’s been going on, Fraser? With Morag—your statement, or evidence, or whatever it’s called? What’s happened? Tell me.
Please
.’

The frantic edge to her pleading had stopped him. He dropped the other trainer and turned towards her, lifting his leg to straddle the wall as if on horseback. But he wouldn’t meet her eyes, merely looking past her into the distance.

‘It’s all complete crap. I’ve been fucked around by everybody. The police. Clients have gone funny with me. Ally.
Everybody
.’

‘Ally? I thought you hadn’t seen him?’

Well…I…I haven’t as such. We talked a wee bit. Just about the Morag thing. He’s livid about them letting her go. Absolutely beside himself.’

Tentatively, she reached a hand out and touched his arm. ‘Please, Eraser. Calm down. Tell me what’s been going on. Why you’ve been telling all these stories to the police. I don’t understand. About that day, about Morag, about any of it. I don’t see how you could have said…
known
she’d done it in the first place. You weren’t with her. You were with
me
for most of the time during that…stupid bloody game. This is all making me scared.’

He shrugged off her hand. ‘Leave it, Bonnie. Just leave it.’

She was near to tears, and there was something else. She felt fear. His erratic behaviour was more than unsettling. She sat in silence for a minute and then turned to him.

‘Eraser, I don’t know if you know, or if you care, but Morag is in a bad way. We all know that she’s become a recluse in that big house of hers. And I, for one, don’t blame her. But things are much, much worse than that.’

She noticed the quiver of his upper lip and thought that he was going to say something. But, instead, he turned his head away from her. The action hurt. Not only was it a rejection of her, but he was, literally, turning his face from the truth. But she wanted, needed, for him to hear her out.

‘I may not have seen much of Morag lately, but what I saw was enough. She’s…well, she’s having mental and emotional problems. They’re well hidden, but I can tell. Add to that the fact that she’s broke. Morag’s going to lose that house. She’s going to get out, leave Edinburgh completely. Oh, she told me in that typical Morag, cavalier, devil-may-care, cold way of hers, almost in passing. But I can read between the lines. What’s happened to her has finished her off.’ Bonnie paused again, hoping, praying, that something of what she’d said would penetrate Fraser’s now icy exterior. But still he remained silent. She looked down towards the sparkling waters. ‘I know it’s very late in the day to admit this but…but I don’t believe Morag deserves what she’s got. Unless you know,
really
know something about her that I don’t. If you do…
please, please tell me
.’

She could feel tears of near panic rising up in her as he continued to stare away from her, unnervingly still.

W
ith stabbing fingers Eraser Coulter closed the spreadsheet. He stared for a moment at the glowing computer screen and then logged off. Exhausted, he sat back, welcoming the blackness that the extinguished screen had plunged him into. The afternoon’s encounter with Bonnie had been wearing and the evening’s grim work trying to balance the books had just about finished him off. He topped up the gin tumbler, his unsteady hand causing the bottle to clink repeatedly against the glass, and then leant back, looking into the darkness of his study and sipping at the drink. A wind had been whipping itself up as he’d worked and now he let himself listen to it ripple through the trees and shrubbery in his back garden. He loved this house. Similar in design to Morag Ramsay’s, an acre or two away to the west. The same architect, in fact. But while she’d left hers untouched, he’d made his own modifications. He’d been proud of the work, much of it accomplished by his own sweat and toil plus that of a few skilled craftsmen. Yes, he’d proved to himself that he could still get his hands dirty.