2007 - The Dead Pool (9 page)

His own home was as good an advert for his skills as any of his commissioned work, and he wasn’t averse to displaying countless digital images of it to attract clients, offering them a virtual tour via his website, or even inviting them to see the place in person. There was no doubt. He’d done well for himself over the years. From humble labourer with a burning aim to better himself, his achievement graph over the past ten years had been more or less a vertical rocket.

Except for his marriage. Something was bound to give for the twenty-five-hour days of two-hundred-per-cent effort. And his marriage had been unable to take the strain.

After the birth of Sam, his wife had hung on for a couple of years and then boom! She’d gone. Now she was more than comfortably off with another husband, living in Truro. One
not
in the trade. Some dullard who came home for dinner at the same time each evening. Someone who was winning, if he hadn’t already won, Sam’s six-year-old heart.

He’d got over it, thanks in large part to this place and his decision to settle here. Ally and lona had quickly made themselves known. Done a rapid social assessment of him—a clever bit of rough made good, with a useful skill. He’d cleaned up on commissions from their circle of well-heeled acquaintances. Then Ally had bestowed on him the ultimate compliment; he wanted to invest in his next development. Two developments, in fact. One in Scotland, the other in Spain. Yes, he’d arrived! His memory of that celebratory evening sealing the deal hadn’t survived beyond three in the morning. But he
had
remembered lona’s form of congratulation sometime before that. Hurriedly but satisfyingly offered and gratefully received over this very desk. An offer occasionally repeated but
never
to be experienced again. He pushed away the ever-persistent image of her final day and refilled his glass, trying to rally himself and recapture happier memories of those breathtaking couplings.

Christ, if Ally had ever found out! lona said it would have infuriated him, though she hadn’t explained why. It seemed okay for Ally to know about her and Craig. In fact, Ally had approved of her liaisons with Craig. Encouraged them even. Partly, or mainly, because he couldn’t stand Morag. He’d been reasonably friendly when Bonnie had first introduced Morag to them all as a new neighbour. But, once Craig had been brought into the circle, Ally had made it plain that he only tolerated her because Craig was such a hit. A funny, clever guy. And yes, there was no doubt his good looks had turned Ally’s head. Ally had been jealous of Morag in that department. But he’d never stood a chance with Craig. Craig was one hundred per cent straight. It was a wonder Ally didn’t go through the roof when lona stuck her claws into him. But maybe he got a sort of kick out of it. Keep Craig in the family, as it were.

One row in particular, between Ally and Morag, still stuck in his mind. It had happened a couple of months before the killings, at one of lona’s lavish private views. Ally and Morag had been down in the basement strongroom, shouting at each other. He was telling her that Craig was too good for her, and that she was too old for him. That she should let him go. Eventually, Ally had emerged with a bleeding lip, which he’d lied about and laughed off to everyone else. But he’d let his real feelings rip when they were alone. ‘
I’m telling jou, Fraser. She’s neurotic, uptight. And dangerous. I pity Craig. I think she could be a real bunny-boiler
.’

As for Ally and lona? They had had their fair share of stand-up rows. Jesus, the fireworks when Ally had been caught at a Christmas party getting it on with the latest in a long line of gallery assistants. Dom…Dominic, some poncy name like that. Spectacular! Typical lona when she was in fiery mode.

God, Ally could be an arrogant sod at times. But that was all gone now. Buried. Under a cloak of something far darker. Fraser shivered as the night’s breeze rustled through his garden. What a shitty day it had been. It wasn’t just the business worries. He’d had yet another visit from those two detectives just as he was settling down to dinner. They were fast becoming his tormentors. ‘
As you know, we’res till determined to pursue our inquiries into the deaths of jour friends. We’ve been looking at the timings again…
’

Like hell they had. It was just another excuse to have a go at him about his statements. It had been a tense, almost threatening, twenty minutes. He had ended up throwing away his uneaten dinner and settling for a liquid one as he wrestled at his computer with the depressing figures. Should he get his solicitor to make noises? Waste of time. They were just rattling his cage. Issuing a warning.
We’ve still got our eye on the ball, on Morag, and we haven’t finished with you
.

He shoved his chair back and walked towards the patio doors. All was black outside with just the faintest glow of light seeping round from the front of his house. Gin glass still in hand, he reached to close the shutters.

A rat-a-tat at the furthest window had him recoiling, the glass tumbling on to the soft carpet underneath, the liquor pooling and spreading beneath his bare feet.

‘Wh—?’ His peripheral vision caught a movement.

Standing out in the garden was the last visitor he’d expected, or wanted, to see tonight.

In the space of half a minute his visitor strode confidently in, flicked on the light and took a leisurely glance around the room. Then he helped himself to a stiff gin and tonic before perching on the corner of the desk, to begin fingering the printouts.

‘So, Fraser, I’m glad to see someone’s working. How are our mutual business interests coming along? Sit. Let’s hae a wee chat then, pal.’

He knew Ally was in belligerent mood, putting on that exaggerated tough-nut Edinburgh accent that felt like, and was probably intended to be, a mockery of his own. Fraser decided to ignore the needling. Ally was just too strange nowadays. Immediately after lona’s death, he’d gone into a deep, brooding, silent depression. That was understandable. But over time, and particularly since Morag’s release, he’d remained uncommunicative. When he did engage in conversation, it was often a tetchy exchange. He’d frequently ‘go missing’ for long periods, refusing to answer phone calls or emails. To make matters worse, whatever inner turmoil had taken hold of him was now being reflected on the outside. A previously snappy, immaculate dresser, these days he looked scruffy. The polo shirt and shorts he was wearing were badly crumpled, as if they’d been slept in, and Ally’s usual fashionably close-shorn head showed signs of growth. As did the goatee beard. But it was the eyes that gave it away. Bleary, exhausted, reddened. From sleepless nights, from weeping—or both? And he seemed to be losing weight by the day. As Ally brought out his cigarette packet, Eraser noted the tremor in his hands.
Join the club
.

He shook his head at the proffered packet, and quickly snatched up the gin glass from the floor, rubbing a handkerchief over the damp patch of carpet. Then he grabbed another tumbler and poured himself a drink, before wheeling his office chair towards Ally. He sat back, feet on the desk, cradling his gin as if he hadn’t a worry in his head. He didn’t like giving Ally the advantage of being seated above him. But he was sending out the message he wanted.
I’m okay. Okayenough to let you tower over me. I’m not intimidated, pal
.

Ally leant towards him. ‘How’s Bonnie, then?’

‘What?’

‘I saw you both today. By the Cauldron. Deep in thought.’

Shit!
This was all he needed. Where the fuck had Ally been? Not skulking on the other side of the river, not at the scene? He wasn’t still doing that, haunting the place? For weeks, months, after his sister’s death, Ally had spent days, and even nights, wandering about the Cauldron. It had been unsettling behaviour. But surely all that had stopped? Evidently not. The realization confirmed Eraser’s suspicion that Ally was on a downward slope. He took short sips of the gin, playing for time, before finally deciding to feign an unruffled, casual approach with Ally.

‘Oh, so you were down there too? You should’ve said hello. Yeah, Bonnie and I were just catching up, what with me being in Spain. And she’s been away too. She was asking after you. Said you weren’t answering her calls. I said I hadn’t seen you much either. She’s doing all right.’

Ally had shuffled the printouts into a neat pile and was resting them in his lap, hands clasped on top. The now familiar sarcastic stare was there, taunting, goading. Eraser broke off eye contact as he wiped an imaginary drop of gin from his lap. He felt Ally move, the desk creaking under his shifting weight.

‘
What’s been goingon, Fraser…? What’s happened? Tell me. Please?
Ally’s tone was a high-pitched caricature of Bonnie’s voice.

Fraser whipped his head up. ‘What?’

Ally gave a brief smile, stubbing out the half-smoked cigarette before answering. ‘You could’ve heard her bloody wailing and whining down at Dean Village. ‘I could only hear her loudest and most irritating shrieks, but I assume she’s been bleating on about Morag.’

Fraser couldn’t bear the power imbalance any longer and stood up, moving back towards a side window.

‘Look, Ally, Bonnie’s far from being on an even keel. Not that she ever was, mind. But this has blown her to pieces. She’s a nervous wreck. You know she’s talking of leaving? And she was asking about Morag. What am I meant to say?’

He risked a glance at Ally, who was shaking his head, a twisted smirk on his tired face. ‘You can tell her that you were once a friend, but one that eventually chickened out when things got tough.’

‘That’s not true. I helped you as much as I could. But it’s got out of hand now. At this rate,
I’m
the one who’ll end up in prison! For attempting to pervert the course of justice.’

Eraser waited for a response but Ally just sat in silence, his head bowed. Then, there was the faintest shuddering of his shoulders. Was he crying, laughing, or what? The sight was unnerving. A moment later, and with slow, careful precision, Ally slid off the desk, placed the printouts in a neat pile and moved over to the patio doors, his back towards Eraser.

‘I feel utterly let down by you. Betrayed. I believed in you as a friend. Gave you
everything
. Contacts, money, a welcome into my world. Now all you’ve succeeded in doing is making Morag feel safer. That silly, jealous, insecure, drunken, drug-crazed fool of a woman.’

Eraser felt stung by the accusation of betrayal. He moved back towards the desk and began fussing with the paperwork.

‘Look, Ally. What do you want? Did you come here specifically to pick a fight? You’ve been ignoring me for ages, now you suddenly pop up at dead of night and saunter in like old times. I don’t have a clue what’s going on with you these days and, frankly, I’m beginning not to care. Besides, I don’t feel like company right now. I’ve got a lot on my mind.’

More silence. Eraser turned in time to see Ally’s fists clench before he spoke.

‘And I’ve not? I just want to know why you didn’t stand by your statement, I always said she was guilty.
You
always did.’

Eraser turned back to his paper-shuffling, wishing he had the guts to fling Ally out of the door. He didn’t need this, not tonight. ‘You’re doing a fair bit of rewriting of history here, Ally. You didn’t
always
think Morag was guilty. None of us did. The police’s random-nutter theory seemed to suit us all at first.’

Ally raised a hand at him. ‘Oh,
please
. The police were useless. We were all in shock, incapable of rational thought. But the police should’ve known better. They were incompetent. They should’ve done their job. Looked at those closest to the victims—it’s usually one of them—and locked Morag up straightaway.’

Fraser gave up on the paperwork and turned round again, gesturing for Ally to sit down. ‘All right. Here, have your drink.’ He handed over the glass and pulled his office chair forwards, straddling it, his chin and hands resting on the back. ‘Look. My second statement to the police, the one that got Morag into trouble, was a pack of lies and you know it. Yes, you’d won me round to thinking she could have done it. Yes, I was happy to do you a favour to get her put away. But…but as the thought of standing up in the witness box got nearer and nearer, I…I just thought, no way. I’m not up to that, and…and I don’t know about Morag any more…her being guilty, I mean.’

Ally slammed down his glass. ‘So, you’re standing up for her now, eh?’ Raking back his chair, he marched towards the patio doors, hands thrust into pockets, and stared out into the night. ‘I never liked Morag Ramsay. That’s no secret. Craig was far too good for her. But I tolerated her. Her jealousy and possessiveness weren’t my problems. They were Craig’s. And her envy of lona…well, lona could give as good as she got in the catty women stakes. But Morag was more than that. In retrospect, she was a psychopath. It
had
to be her. There was no other plausible explanation. No random nutter running amok. And none of us wished lona or Craig ill. Just Morag.’ He shrugged his shoulders, and continued staring out at the black nothingness of the garden. ‘All I wanted from you was to ‘help’ the evidence, the case, along a bit. How the hell can you say now that she didn’t do it? How can you have helped them let her go?’

‘Oh, come on, Ally. You’re getting things out of perspective. They would have let her go anyway. They didn’t have—and still don’t have—enough to hold her.’

Ally spun round. ‘
At the moment
.’

Eraser nodded. ‘Yes, okay, at the moment. But, listen. I don’t know for sure if she did it or not. But what I do know is this. The absolute bloody irony of it all is that if Morag hadn’t been drugged and boozed up, she either wouldn’t have done it in the first place
or
, if she had, she’d have remembered and admitted it.
That
, I know, is too much for you to handle right now, but it’s time it was said. lona may have brought it all upon herself. And that’s why I wasn’t prepared to get up in court and lie.’

He knew he was pushing it. ‘And we’re guilty too for colluding in her stupid childish games. I see it now. You might think I’m some kind of rough, pig-ignorant dunce, but you’d be wrong. I recognize what you and lona were doing. What you are. What you were. Like some secret, silent virus, infecting us all with your apparent charm when, beneath that charm, you,
both
of you, were eating away at us, playing with us, fucking us around
and
fucking each other around. Oh, you used to be a nice guy a lot of the time, but the arrogant side of you—pumped up by lona, of course—thought you were a real player. Well, there’s a price to pay for that kind of manipulation. And it’s been and is being paid right now!’ He took a deep breath. ‘And, guess what? I can be a bit of a player too,
pall
You didn’t have a clue, did you? About me and lona. That I too had sampled her charms.’