Sacrifice (38 page)

Gifford flinched. Then his eyes narrowed even more. ‘When Cathy Morton died at our hospital I was in New Zealand,’ he said. ‘I told you that already and I told the police that today. They checked my flight details and people I stayed with in Auckland. So, unlike you, they happen to believe me. I never saw Caroline Salter in my life until I took part in an identity parade this afternoon. Had she picked me out, I wouldn’t be here now.’

I wasn’t having it. ‘Somebody helped Gair. He couldn’t have done it alone.’

‘No, I don’t think he could. But he wasn’t helped by us. Neither of us had anything to do with what’s being going on up on Tronal. We had no reason to want Melissa Gair dead.’ Gifford had lowered his
voice almost to a whisper. I found myself staring into his eyes, wanting to believe him. I made myself look away.

‘You wanted me dead, though,’ I said to Duncan.

‘The idiot at the boatyard got it wrong, Tor.’ Duncan was still hovering, wanting to come towards me, not quite daring to. ‘I know what you think, but it’s bollocks. The mast collapsed while we were out but it didn’t break clean off. After I was picked up the boat got caught around some salmon cages. The salvage team had to saw through the rest of the mast to get it clean away. McGill’s boy didn’t know that. He just jumped to conclusions.’

I thought about it. It wasn’t impossible. A mast doesn’t always break clean away, sometimes it just buckles under the force of the wind. Still attached to the boat, it flies around in every direction. It’s a messy and highly dangerous situation and most sailors carry bolt-croppers in case it happens to them.

‘No one’s trying to kill you,’ said Duncan, in what was almost a whisper.

‘Although House Officer Donaldson is pretty pissed off that you yelled at him the other day,’ said Gifford. ‘He’s considering an official complaint.’

‘Will you fucking well pack it in? Half the islands were out looking for me last night. You had a chopper searching the moors, for God’s sake. You don’t do that unless you want someone pretty badly.’

‘We were worried about you. You bailed out of hospital with a whole load of Diazepam in your system. For all we knew you’d convinced yourself
you could fly and were heading for the nearest cliff-top to boogie with the puffins.’

‘Someone killed Dana. She found out too much. About Stephen Gair. About all of you.’

‘Dana’s post-mortem was carried out today. Do you want to know what they found?’

Suddenly, I wanted to sit down after all. I even caught myself looking at the Talisker. Gifford pushed his glass over towards me. Duncan glared at him. I saw that, behind them, the door to the cellar was sealed off with red and white police tape. I made myself look away; I didn’t want to start thinking about what might have happened down there. I nodded to Gifford to start talking.

‘Death occurred due to extensive blood loss when the radial and ulnar arteries were severed on both wrists. The angle of the wounds and the weakness of the cut on the right wrist suggest the wounds were self-administered. There was no trace of drugs in her bloodstream and no bruises to indicate she was held down. The conclusion is death by suicide.’

I shook my head.

‘You can read the report yourself.’

‘Dana did not commit suicide.’ I wasn’t sure any more about Gifford’s involvement, I could no longer swear that Duncan had tried to kill me, but if I had just one thing, one truth to hold on to, it was that Dana did not kill herself. If I’d been wrong about Dana, I could have been wrong about everything. And I wasn’t. I bloody well wasn’t.

And then Gifford took my breath away.

‘Probably not. But – listen now – you may never be able to prove otherwise.’

His pupils were enormous and the irises of his eyes had no colour. I had to blink hard and shake myself to look away. I turned to Duncan. He’d resumed his seat and he reached out across the table towards me. I looked at his tanned, calloused hand and shook my head, putting my own hands firmly together in front of me. Gifford glanced at Duncan, who nodded his head forward just once. Then Gifford spoke.

‘Caroline Salter identified Andrew Dunn as the man who accompanied Gair when he visited Cathy. Dunn was involved in the adoption scam, has made thousands from it over the years. He almost certainly conspired with Gair to kill Melissa and he may well have killed Dana Tulloch too. But Tora, in all likelihood, you’ll never be able to prove it.’

I leaned back in my chair, hands pressed to my mouth, because I knew that any second now I was going to start sobbing. I didn’t doubt what he was saying for a second. I picked up Gifford’s glass and drained it. The Scotch hit the back of my throat like a blow but it helped. I wasn’t going to cry just yet.

‘How . . . how did he . . .?’

Gifford poured another drink. Same glass. ‘DI Dunn leaves a lot to be desired as a police officer but he does have – how shall I put it? – a few unusual skills.’

And something clicked into place. ‘He hypnotized her. He made her slash her own wrists.’

Gifford nodded. ‘Probably,’ he said.

I looked at Duncan. He gave me a sympathetic twitch of the lips. I turned back to Gifford. ‘You can do it too.’

He waited for a second before inclining his head forward in acknowledgement.

‘Oh Jesus!’ I stood up, panic building. I looked round for my knife but it was by Duncan’s elbow. When the hell had he done that? I looked at the door.

‘Tora, it’s a party trick.’ Gifford was out of his seat. ‘How do you think Duncan got you to marry him?’

I looked, horrified, at Duncan, praying he was going to look outraged and deny it. He just stared back at me.

‘You think Up Helly Aa lasts all winter?’ continued Gifford, resuming his seat. ‘We make our own fun up here.’

‘Take it easy, Kenn, it’s not funny,’ said Duncan.

‘No, you’re right. I’m sorry.’ Gifford reached out and took hold of my hand. It didn’t occur to me to stop him but Duncan loudly cleared his throat and Kenn let go. I sat down again.

‘So what are you telling me? You can all do it up here? It’s on the high-school curriculum?’

‘Course not,’ said Duncan. ‘Just a couple of the older families. It’s a sort of passed-down-through-the-generations thing. Bit of a game, really. Although it can give us an edge in business meetings, you know, get people on side more quickly. All harmless.’

‘Andy was always better at it than most. I think
he enjoyed the sense of power it gave him,’ said Gifford.

‘You’ll tell them. You’ll tell the police about this.’

Duncan and Gifford looked at each other again and I really wished they’d stop doing it. I could not get used to these two as co-conspirators.

‘If you want us to,’ said Gifford. ‘But against considerable evidence of suicide, how seriously do you think people are going to take us?’

At that moment, we all jumped as a sudden noise rang out through the quiet of the house. Someone was banging on the front door, and at the same time the telephone started ringing. We looked at each other, not really sure what to do, what to respond to first. Then I got up and left the room. Behind me I could hear Duncan answering the phone. I walked quickly to the front door and opened it. The WPC was on the doorstep, her colleague immediately behind her.

‘Are you all right?’ She was trying to see over my shoulder. ‘We’ve been told to check on you, not leave you alone.’

I nodded. ‘I’m fine. Come on in.’

I led the officers to our living room. ‘Can you wait here for a bit? There’s something I need to finish.’

As I returned to the kitchen, Duncan was holding out the phone. I took it.

‘Tora, I’ve only just been told.’ Helen was speaking fast. ‘About your husband being released. Are you OK?’

‘I’m fine, really, don’t worry.’

‘Are the constables with you?’

‘In the next room.’

‘Well, for God’s sake keep them there. I’m really not happy about this, but I can’t get away right now. Gair has admitted that Andy Dunn was working with him and helped him kill Melissa.’

Duncan and Kenn were both watching me. ‘Andy Dunn killed Dana,’ I said.

The line was silent for a few seconds. ‘I can’t deal with that right now. I’ll get back to you.’ She hung up and I replaced the receiver. I closed the kitchen door so the two officers in the living room couldn’t hear us and sat down again.

‘Dunn hasn’t been seen since about eleven p.m. last night,’ said Gifford. ‘The Salter woman had to identify his photograph. They think he’s left the islands. Until he’s found, you need to be careful.’

Duncan made an exasperated noise. He picked up the bottle, emptied it into his glass and sat glowering at the amber-coloured liquid.

‘Take it easy, Duncan,’ said Kenn, with something like a warning in his voice. There were emotions in the room that were threatening to sizzle out of control. It was no longer just me, venting my righteous anger on these two. There was more at stake and I couldn’t figure it out. Then I remembered something.

‘You two are receiving money from Tronal,’ I said, turning to Duncan. ‘The place even paid for this god-damned house. If neither of you are involved with the maternity clinic, why are you on its payroll?’

‘Looks like we’ve no secrets left, buddy,’ said Kenn, looking round the room. ‘Will you tell her or
shall I? By the way, I’m starving. Is anyone planning on eating tonight?’

As Kenn got up and crossed the room, I waited for Duncan to tell me the last big secret.

‘Eight people get a monthly income from Tronal,’ he said eventually. ‘In addition to the staff, of course. Kenn and I, Dad, Gair and Dunn. And three others you probably don’t know.’

‘Why?’ I demanded, leaning back in my chair. Kenn had moved out of my line of sight and I didn’t like it.

‘We own it. We bought shares around ten years ago. It was in financial trouble, about to go under, and we bailed it out. It was long before I met you and I never thought to mention it. My trust fund was part of the loan. It was paid back in December, in time to buy the house.’

They owned the clinic? And knew nothing about what had been going on up there? Was I seriously expected to believe this?

‘The Tronal clinic has been around for a long time,’ continued Duncan. ‘This business with Gair, it’s just like . . . the rotten branch of a tree. Tronal has helped a lot of women in its time, a lot of local families.’

Gifford had opened our fridge door. Finding nothing in there, he turned back. ‘Most babies born there are adopted normally and legally,’ he said. ‘Most people who work at the clinic probably knew nothing about what Gair and Dunn were up to. I’m pretty certain Richard didn’t.’ He opened a cupboard, closed it again.

‘I still don’t understand why you bailed it out. Why did you care?’

Kenn opened another cupboard. ‘Christ, have you two even heard of supermarkets?’ He gave up and came back to the table.

‘Because we were born there,’ said Duncan. He waited a while, giving me time to take it in. ‘We were both Tronal babies. Adopted by island families. So was Dunn. I’m not sure about the others.’

I stared at Duncan. ‘Elspeth and Richard aren’t your parents?’

‘Elspeth couldn’t have children,’ said Duncan. A shadow crossed his face. ‘Richard could,’ he added, looking at Kenn.

‘Richard is my father,’ said Kenn.

I found I had nothing to say.

‘Richard and Elspeth tried for several years to have a family,’ explained Kenn. ‘During that time, when I guess their relationship was under some strain, Richard had an affair with a house officer at the hospital. She had her baby in the maternity unit on Tronal and put me up for adoption by the Giffords. Three years later, Elspeth finally admitted defeat and agreed to adopt too. Duncan was four months old and, I’m led to believe, a very appealing infant.’

‘You two are brothers?’ I asked, looking from one to the other.

Gifford shrugged. ‘Well, not biologically, but yes, I’ve always felt we’re family.’

Duncan’s face darkened.

‘Why didn’t they adopt you?’ I asked Kenn.

‘Elspeth doesn’t know about me. I didn’t know who my genetic father was myself till I was sixteen. I wasn’t surprised though.’

No, I bet he hadn’t been. I couldn’t imagine why I hadn’t thought of it before. I’d seen the strong likeness between Richard and Kenn, the antipathy between Duncan and Kenn, the cool formality that was Duncan’s relationship with his parents, but I hadn’t put all the pieces together. Kenn, the doctor, the blood son, the spiritual son; Duncan, the poor foundling, taken in to keep Elspeth happy. Poor Duncan. Poor Kenn, come to think of it. What a mess.

An hour later, I was still at home. I’d found I really couldn’t cope with a night in a strange hotel. WPC Jane, at Helen’s insistence, was sleeping in one of our spare rooms. Duncan was firmly consigned to another. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe everything he’d told me. Actually, I did; I wanted to talk to Helen about it, get it all checked out, but the more I thought about it the more convinced I became that the lies were over, that I finally had most of the answers.

I took a long shower, shampooed my hair twice and then cleaned my teeth. It felt good to be back in a bathroom. In spite of my nap in the Dundee police cell I could feel my eyelids drooping. Then I caught sight of Duncan’s toilet bag on the bathroom shelf and was suddenly wide awake again. No, I didn’t have all the answers yet, after all.

I walked across the corridor and pushed open the
door of the spare room. Duncan was lying on the bed, headphones on, face downcast. He pulled them off, brightening at the sight of me, until he saw the look on my face. I held up the packet I’d extracted from his washbag.

‘Anything you want to say?’

He took off his headphones, stood up. ‘How about I’m sorry?’

I shook my head. ‘Not nearly good enough.’ I stepped into the room, wondering how much damage I could inflict on him before either a) he overpowered me or b) we were interrupted by Constable Jane. ‘Do you have any idea what it’s been like for me this past year?’

Duncan, to his credit, could no longer look me in the eye.

‘I have to see, talk to, touch pregnant women every working day of my life. I have to listen to them moaning about nausea, tiredness, backache, groin-strain until I have to sit on my hands to stop myself from slapping them, from yelling at them to stop moaning, you silly bitch, be grateful for what you have. I have to touch every newborn baby, feel its solid little body between my hands, and each time I’m torn between wanting to run away with it or hurl it out of the god-damned window. Each time I hand one over to its mother, I feel like my heart has been ripped in two. I want to collapse on the delivery-room floor and sob, why, why, why isn’t it me? Why is it that every other bloody woman in the world can do this and I can’t?’