The Reborn (35 page)

‘You already suspected he was involved in her death?’

‘He disappeared around the time she died. It was too much of a coincidence.’

‘And now we can place the knife at both scenes,’ she said.

‘Good work,’ said Bill. ‘Also, I spoke to Maria Reese-Brandon. I told her that her husband had fathered Kira’s baby and she went into shock. I don’t think she had any idea what was going on between them. Anyway, he’s lost his alibi for that night, as his wife now says he did go out.’

‘You think he went to meet Kira?’

‘He admits he did – says Kira texted him and asked him to pick her up, but then never appeared.’

‘I found no evidence to place him in the Hall of Mirrors.’

‘That doesn’t mean he wasn’t there.’

There was a moment’s silence before Bill said, ‘And what about David – would he have had enough time to remove the baby and hide it before he called 999?’

‘Just about.’

‘Maybe David did kill Kira. Maybe he found out about Frank Delaney and Ronald Reese-Brandon and flipped out.’ He paused. ‘But why would he kill Melanie?’

‘Because she had reason to suspect him?’

They would never know the answers to their questions until they found David Murdoch.

45

David checked the path below before rising from his hiding place. With dusk approaching he felt more confident about venturing out. He’d now spent two nights on the street; the first, he’d slept in an alley behind Sauchiehall Street and found the experience terrifying, with drunks looking for a fight and the police looking for the drunks. He’d moved to Kelvingrove Park after that. It was colder and wetter, but he’d felt safer hidden among the undergrowth on the steep incline from the Kelvin walkway.

His legs felt unsteady as he ploughed his way through thick ivy towards the path. He needed food, but if he bought cheap alcohol it might both stave off the hunger and help calm his anxiety. He made his way swiftly by the river walk towards Kelvinbridge, hood up, head down.

When he reached the main road he headed for a corner shop. He’d checked the stands every day for anything on Melanie and there had been nothing so far. He was beginning to believe he’d dreamt it. Maybe she hadn’t been dead after all? Maybe she’d just been unconscious and he’d panicked for no reason.

He walked in and picked up a bottle of strong cider. He had enough for that and a chocolate bar, which was better than nothing. He approached the counter.

The male assistant pointed at a sign that said,
ID required for all purchases of alcohol
.

David checked his wallet as though looking for ID. ‘Sorry, mate, forgot to bring it.’

‘No ID, no alcohol.’

‘That’s OK. I’ll just take the chocolate.’

David handed over his basket. The guy removed the cider and stood it to one side, rang up the chocolate and handed him his change.

David thanked him and made a point of putting the chocolate bar in his backpack while the next customer took his place. He waited until the assistant was occupied with the next guy, then snatched the cider and bolted for the door. On the way to the door, his head whipped back as he spotted the headline on the topmost of a pile of newspapers.

Next to a photo of Melanie was one of himself. He registered all this in a split second, then scrambled out of the door as the shopkeeper was still coming around the counter.

Darting across Great Western Road, he made for the underground station. Entry was by escalator from street level, and he ran down the moving stairs. His quick glance back had showed no one following – chances were the man would do nothing. Why hassle the police for a bottle of cider?

He hung around inside for a while, his heart thumping against his ribs. When he was certain no one was following him, he reemerged and took the steps down to the park. Heading for the nearest bench, he opened the cider, gulping down as much as he could at one go.

When he was sure his stomach wasn’t about to reject it, he swallowed some more. Already the gnawing hunger was retreating, and with it the numbness in his fingers and toes. He screwed the lid back on and tore the wrapping off the chocolate bar. He ate slowly, letting each square melt on his tongue before adding another.

While he savoured the chocolate, he worried whether the guy in the shop might have recognised him from the photo in the paper, then realised that he didn’t look like that any more. In the picture, his hair had been styled, and one of the first things he’d done when he went on the run was wet it and brush it back. Without the gel to hold it in place, it had sprung back into its natural curls, and now he looked like the geek he’d been before Kira had taken him in hand. The memory of Kira brought a wave of self-pity; this was what life was like without her. He took another slug of cider, then anchored the bottle inside his jacket.

Where to now?

He gazed at the lights of the funfair. It had only been scheduled to stay for a week but notoriety had brought out the crowds, delaying its departure.

The alcohol had taken effect, lifting his mood. He was seized by the drunken idea that if he visited the funfair, he could pretend the last nine days had never happened. Maybe he could even convince himself for a while that Kira was alive and waiting for him there.

He rose unsteadily to his feet, slung the backpack over his shoulder and headed for the lights. The path ran alongside the river, and he realised that if he walked far enough he would end up directly below Kira’s house.

The night of the party had been only the second time he’d been allowed inside. On both occasions her parents had been away. The first time, they’d drunk vodka from the drinks cabinet, and he’d got pissed and revealed his sexual confusion and inexperience to Kira. She had vowed then to help him end his abstinence.

The second time had been for the party, when Kira had produced the green mask and insisted he wear it. High as a kite, he’d had sex with Melanie. She hadn’t been the only one that night – drugs, drink and the mask had combined to make him lose all his inhibitions. He’d felt like he’d actually become Dionysos.

He laughed at the memory of another encounter on the stairs to the back cellar. Then, wearing the mask, he had been the focus for someone else’s lust, someone he knew would never admit to such leanings. That had been the most liberating experience of his life, because he finally realised what Kira had said was true.

Everyone can take what they want
.

There was a vibration in his pocket as his phone registered an incoming message. He stood, swaying slightly, undecided. Should he read it? What if it was the police? He glanced round surreptiously. The crowds continued to walk past him as though he was invisible. If Kira had been with him, everyone would be staring at them. She always looked so cool. He smiled at the memory, then his face crumpled and tears oozed from his eyes.
I am pathetic
, he thought,
and I don’t care
. There was nothing to care about any more. He pulled out the phone, checked the sender’s name and opened it.

He texted back:
at funfair
.

The reply was almost instantaneous.
W8 thr am cmg I know who kild Kira

He spotted the mirror maze in the near distance and staggered towards it, alcohol swirling through his brain. The lights and throbbing music of the funfair enveloped him, heightening the acuteness of his memories like a drug. Kira. He recalled the scent of her skin – milky and sweet, like a baby’s. Her voice. He laughed at the memory. She always sounded so posh, even when she was swearing.

He stopped, realising he was at the mirror maze. The pain flooded back. He whimpered and slid to the ground, anchoring his arms round his chest. He felt the bulge of the cider bottle and pulled it out, opened it with shaking hands and began to drink in large, rapid gulps, desperate to blot out the image of Kira’s bloodsoaked body. When the bottle was empty he threw it to one side. The world swam before him, ebbing and flowing, but the acute pain had lessened to a dull throb.

Some time later, he didn’t know how long, he heard a voice and looked up. The words made no sense. He lowered his head again because it felt too heavy and settled his eyes on the boots that stood before him. They were red. He thought about stepping in Kira’s blood, sliding in it. Falling. He felt the thump as his head hit the wood and winced. His eyes were closing and he forced them open again. That smell was back, jolting his memory. He slid further down, began curling himself into a ball. Now he was inches from the red boots. And he remembered. The flash of red under the mirror when he’d fallen.

‘You were there,’ he said in disbelief, his voice slurred.

46

Bill skimmed through the social services report, looking for confirmation that Geri Taylor was pregnant.

Magnus had seemed saddened by Dr Shan’s confession, although Rhona had already suggested to him that the doctor might be involved. Before leaving, he had said, ‘I want to take another look at Coulter’s diary, to see if anything in there suggested who else he might have been in touch with. I can’t help but feel that’s why he wanted me to have it.’

‘If I discover who Coulter called, or who Caroline is, I’ll let you know,’ Bill had promised.

Now Bill glanced at his watch and realised guiltily that he should have called Margaret and let her know he wouldn’t be back to eat with the family. Time had simply run away from him.

He closed the file and slipped it in a folder to take with him. He wouldn’t read it properly until Margaret was asleep, to give her at least a couple of hours of his time. He nodded to the night shift on his way out, but DS Clark was nowhere to be seen. He hoped she was at home relaxing – after the bollocking she’d got from him today, she deserved it.

When he reached home, Margaret was in the dining room, a pile of jotters on the table in front of her. She gave him a weary smile.

‘It’s curry,’ she said. ‘Just pop the plate in the microwave, and put the naan bread in the toaster.’

He busied himself in the kitchen, suddenly ravenous. When the microwave pinged, he extracted the steaming plate, flipped the naan from the toaster and carried it all through to join Margaret at the table.

‘You look tired,’ he said, concerned.

‘I’m OK. But I’m heading for bed when I finish this.’ She had two more books to mark.

‘I could join you, bring us both up a whisky?’

She smiled. ‘That would be nice.’

She bent back over her marking, and he studied her soft, new curls as he ate his dinner. They reminded him of Lisa’s baby hair. He wanted to ask Margaret if she really was OK, if her return to work had been too soon after the chemotherapy. But instead he pondered how easy he found it to forget everything when he was working on a case, even his wife’s cancer. Thankfully it was in remission, but he still felt ashamed that it wasn’t in his mind every minute of the day. For a long time it had been, but you could grow used to anything in time.

‘Are the kids home?’

‘Lisa’s next door with Diane, and Robbie’s in his room. There.’ She placed the last jotter on the pile. ‘How long will you be?’

‘Ten minutes?’

‘Any longer and I’ll be asleep.’

He watched her climb the stairs through the open door. Did she always look so tired at the end of the day? He made a mental note to check that Lisa and Robbie were pulling their weight, although he was guiltily aware that, as usual, he wasn’t.

The spicy curry had lost some of its flavour. He took a couple more forkfuls, then pushed the plate to one side. He would go upstairs and spend some time with Margaret, then when she fell asleep he would come back down and study the social services report on Geri Taylor.

He poured a couple of whiskies, went through to the kitchen to add water, then headed upstairs. Margaret was already in bed, a book open on her lap. She smiled at him as he entered.

‘I was sure you’d get engrossed in that file you brought home and forget to come up.’

‘You know me too well.’ He handed her a glass, kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the bed beside her.

They sipped in companionable silence. This was what love was, he thought. Someone you could be quiet with.

He planted a kiss on the side of her head.

‘What’s that for?’

‘Because I love you.’

‘And I love you too.’

He switched the glass to his other hand and put his arm about her. She nestled close against him. He wanted to make love to her, but didn’t want to impose himself.

‘Get undressed,’ she ordered.

Later, Bill closed the file and pushed it to one side. According to the report, Geri Taylor’s baby was due any time. Bill couldn’t imagine how she could have visited Coulter in recent days and hidden her pregnancy. Might his partner’s pregnancy have anything to do with Coulter’s behaviour in this case?

He was done thinking about Coulter tonight. He poured another small whisky, double-locked the door and began to climb wearily to bed. He was on the third stair when the silent mobile vibrated in his pocket.

47

David lay close to the back canvas wall of the mirror maze, a plastic cider bottle by his side. In the dark he would have looked like a drunk, passed out on the grass.

The paramedic team had pulled aside his heavy jacket to reveal a knife, its blade buried deep in his left side under the ribcage. David’s cold hands still gripped the shaft as though he had made the thrust himself, like a Roman falling on his sword.

‘He was dead when we got here.’ The female paramedic looked not much older than Lisa, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, a stud glinting in her nose. ‘We found this.’ She handed Bill a scrap of paper. On it was scrawled,
I killed them
.

‘Could he have done that to himself?’