Too Soon a Death: A Scottish mystery where cosy crime meets tartan noir: Borders Mysteries Book 2 (34 page)

Kate sat up in bed wearing a pink nightie, a small plaster at her throat the only visible evidence of the experiences she had recently lived through. ‘Here’s my friend I was telling you about,’ she said to an elderly woman in the next bed. Her voice still sounded gravelly, making Zoe want to clear her own throat.

They hugged.

‘How are you feeling?’ Zoe asked.

‘Fine, thanks, but what’s going on at home?’ Kate replied. ‘Mum was in a peculiar mood last night when she visited. I knew something was up, though of course she denied it.’

Reaching to the back of her head to check her new barrette hadn’t worked loose, Zoe said, ‘I’ve not seen her. I expect she’s just tired with all the worry and travelling over here every day.’

‘You’re fiddling with your hair. You do that when you can’t think what to say. What on earth’s going on?’

Zoe was spared having to answer this question by Kate looking past her and asking another one. ‘And what’s
he
doing here?’

Zoe turned around and saw Sergeant Trent coming towards them. His shirt was stained with sweat and he looked worried. After greeting them, he said, ‘Doctor Moreland, I’m glad to find you here. Your mobile must be switched off.’

‘I always mute it in a hospital.’

‘Sorry for interrupting your visit, but I need you to come with me.’

‘What’s happened?’

‘We’ll talk about it outside.’

‘Okay. I’ll be back soon, Kate.’

Trent opened his mouth as if to argue with that statement, but stopped himself. Zoe’s heart pounded as she followed him into the corridor. She felt no better when he took her arm and started to lead her towards the stairs.

‘What’s going on, Sergeant? I won’t let you frogmarch me out of the building without an explanation.’

‘My orders are to get you home as soon as possible.’

She planted her feet firmly at the top of the stairs and grabbed hold of the bannister, confident he wouldn’t pull her and risk sending her tumbling headfirst to the landing below.

‘You’re scaring me. What’s happened?’

‘If I agree to tell you, will you keep moving?’

The low pitch of his voice and the gravest look she’d ever seen on his face stopped her from arguing further. ‘Alright,’ she said, releasing her hand from the bannister and taking the first stair down.

‘I have some bad news.’

‘Has the man who attacked us died? Can’t say I’d be too upset about that.’

‘No.’

‘What then?’

‘John Wilkie’s dead.’

They were halfway down the stairs now. Zoe halted, felt Trent tighten his grip on her arm to urge her on. They reached the ground floor before she could find her voice.

‘Did someone kill him?’

Trent murmured something about avoiding the main entrance and guided her off to their right, towards A&E.

‘He was knocked down by a car as he crossed the road outside his home.’

‘On purpose?’

As they rounded the corner opposite the A&E reception, Trent slowed down and swore under his breath. Constable Reid and a woman were walking towards them, the woman sobbing into a large handkerchief.

Trent pulled Zoe out of their way. Just as Reid and her charge drew level with them, the woman lifted her face from the handkerchief. She locked eyes with Zoe and bared her teeth.

‘This is all your fault!’ Heather Wilkie shouted. ‘You made him go to the police and you got him killed!’

FORTY-ONE

Trent insisted on driving the Jeep back to Keeper’s Cottage. At first, he tried to make conversation, but although Zoe expressed pleasure at hearing how well his premature son was doing, he eventually got the message her mind was elsewhere and shut up.

Heather Wilkie was right. Zoe had persuaded her husband to tell the police what he’d seen and heard that morning the boy had been thrown off the Chain Bridge, and because of this, his identity had been revealed online. The owners of all those cannabis plants which were currently being destroyed by the police must have mistakenly linked him with yesterday’s raid on the house in the woods. They’d killed him because of her meddling. Another little girl would grow up without a father.

Even the baby’s kicks, which had started up as they pulled out of the hospital grounds, felt like reprimands. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

The drive home took forever.

Zoe broke the silence as she unlocked her front door. ‘What about Patrick? He could be in danger too.’

‘He’s taken care of,’ Trent said.

‘My dog’s still with him. Can’t I at least go over and fetch Mac?’

‘I’ll have someone bring him to you.’

‘What about releasing the news that John wasn’t with us when we found the cannabis factory, that it had nothing to do with him? If they know they’ve killed the wrong man, they might think twice about hurting anyone else.’ Even as she said this, Zoe knew how naive it sounded, and Trent was kind enough not to respond, instead insisting on entering Keeper’s Cottage before her. As she followed him inside, the little house felt unwelcoming without Mac bounding up to greet them.

While Trent checked all the rooms, his mobile clamped to his ear as he made arrangements to be collected, Zoe went through to the kitchen and poured them both some water from a jug in the fridge.

‘I’d normally invite you out onto the patio, but I don’t suppose you’d recommend that at present,’ she said, passing the policeman his glass. They sat down on opposite sides of the kitchen table.

‘Just for a few days. I know you’re ex-directory but it’s hard to keep someone’s home address a secret any more. Especially round here, where everyone knows everyone else.’

Zoe nodded in agreement. The young man in the Fiesta—her stalker—had managed to track her down. She tried to remember if she’d first noticed him following her before or after being pictured on the ScotlandsNews website.

‘I can tell by your face I’ve struck a chord,’ Trent said. ‘Have you had any unwelcome visitors here recently?’

‘I’m sure he’s nothing to do with the cannabis factory.’

‘Who are you talking about?’

It was a relief to tell Trent about being followed by the Fiesta and the silent calls coming in on both the cottage phone and her mobile. When Zoe described how matters had escalated to her stalker driving his car at her, Trent jumped up and stood with his back to the sink, staring at her blouse as if trying to see through it. Zoe self-consciously crossed her arms.

‘Sorry,’ he said, turning pink. ‘I was remembering finding you yesterday with your shirt off. I wondered what had caused all those scratches but didn’t like to ask. Why didn’t you tell anyone about this?’

‘I felt stupid, not taking the car’s number down and besides, I’ve not seen him since.’

Trent strode over to the French windows and looked outside. Although his face was hidden from her, Zoe could see his fists were clenched.

‘Don’t get angry with me,’ she said. ‘Be honest, what would you have done if I’d made a complaint? Told me to be careful and get his number next time, that’s what.’

He turned to face her. ‘I would have expected after the events of last winter . . .’

‘It’s because of what happened then that I didn’t want to involve you. I promised myself I wasn’t going to let such a horrendous experience make me live the rest of my life in fear.’

Trent opened his mouth to speak and closed it again, frowning.

Zoe held up a hand. ‘I know what you’re thinking and in the light of
your
recent experience, I can’t blame you. But I’d never do anything to put my baby at risk. Had I known what was happening in that house, we wouldn’t have gone near it. I thought we were simply dealing with a stray dog.’

‘We don’t have the manpower to post someone at your gate, but I’ll arrange for a car to drive by here regularly. Promise me you’ll get in touch immediately if you see anything or anybody suspicious.’

‘Of course I will.’

A knock on the front door made Zoe jump. ‘I’ll go,’ Trent said.

Seconds later, Mac bounded into the kitchen and rushed to Zoe’s side. She leaned over to hug him. ‘You’ll look after me, won’t you?’ she murmured.

‘Are you sure you don’t want us to take you to Tolbyres Farm?’ Trent said as he re-entered the room. ‘We can wait for you to pack a few things.’

‘Etta’s got enough lodgers with Kate’s children there, and Kate herself is coming out of hospital shortly. I’ll be fine here. My new windows and doors are so secure they actually met with your boss’s approval last time he visited.’

‘Do you plan on going into the health centre tomorrow?’

‘No, Paul insisted I take the day off even before this happened. He’s found a locum to cover for me when I’m on maternity leave and he’s pulling her in straightaway. Who knows, if she fits in, maybe I can finish work in time to catch up with all the things I’m supposed to do before the baby arrives.’

Trent nodded his approval at this. ‘I must go,’ he said. ‘You’ve got my number, so call me if you’re at all worried, okay?’

‘I can’t live the rest of my life looking over my shoulder.’

‘I know.’

Despite all the things she had to do, Zoe couldn’t settle to any task after Trent left, and ended up reading and snacking on tablet for most of the evening. Mac wandered around, confused at not getting his early-evening walk and probably missing Peggy’s company too. She felt mean and foolish locking the French windows during his occasional tours of the garden, forcing him to bark to be let back in.

Keeper’s Cottage became hotter and more stuffy as the evening wore on. Zoe usually threw all the windows wide open to take advantage of the cooler air, risking the arrival of moths and other flying insects, but tonight she was wary of other, more dangerous, visitors. When her bedtime eventually arrived, she fetched the electric fan, glad now she hadn’t taken it to the health centre, and succeeded in falling asleep with it on.

At five the next morning, her bladder having forced her to get up several times during the night, she rose and went through to the kitchen to make a cup of tea, briefly opening the French windows to let Mac out. Despite the early hour, the air still felt heavy and humid. She locked up again as soon as the dog came back in.

Guilt continued to overwhelm her: for causing John Wilkie’s death, for leading Patrick into danger, and for risking, albeit unknowingly, her child’s life. She couldn’t even look Mac in the eye, knowing he wasn’t going to get a walk for what might turn out to be days. Only the needs of the baby inside her made eating possible, and she kept going back in her mind to that morning on the banks of the River Tweed. None of this would have happened if she’d stuck to doing her paperwork and made the police officer wait for Paul.

Another bout of tears decided her: the only way to stop falling apart was to stay busy. She went online to research car seats. She’d just decided to delay ordering one until she could ask Kate’s advice, when an email came in notifying her of the imminent delivery of some earlier purchases. These included a crib-set in a cheery farmyard design, which reminded her of another task she could undertake now she had time. She’d bought it to match some stencils she’d found months ago, so why not decorate the second bedroom’s walls with cows, chickens, ducks and pigs now? Who cared if it was still only seven-thirty in the morning?

Stencilling turned out to be both easier and messier than she expected, so she donned the chef’s apron Margaret had given her for Christmas, even though it no longer fitted in every direction and she had to wear it folded over and tied round her middle, like the old-fashioned waist pinny her grandmother had favoured. Stopping regularly for cold drinks to cool down and stave off dehydration in the oppressive heat, she worked on. She was poised to add one final brown hen when the doorbell rang and Mac barked.

She placed the can of spray adhesive on the hall table and wiped her hands on the apron. Her stomach churned as she looked through the front door’s spyhole but the familiar sight of a hi-vis waistcoat and baseball cap, both bearing the Royal Mail logo, brought a surge of relief. She didn’t recognise the face under the cap but Donald the postie had mentioned he was going on holiday soon.

Mac danced excitedly round her feet as she opened the front door, so she bent over to hold him by the collar. The postie moved towards her, holding up a small package.

‘Thank you,’ Zoe said, reaching out for it.

The postie grinned.

And grabbed her by the wrist.

FORTY-TWO

The man’s grip on Zoe’s wrist made her wince. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she demanded, letting go of Mac’s collar and trying to pull herself free. He dropped the package on the ground, grabbed her other arm and despite Zoe’s struggles, propelled her backwards until they were both standing in the hall. Mac, realising something wasn’t right, started to bark in a tone quite unlike the one he used to greet visitors. The man kicked out, his booted foot landing a blow against the dog’s leg, making him yelp.

‘Leave him alone!’ Zoe shouted.

Mac snarled and backed off as the fake postie aimed another kick at him.

‘Fucking dog,’ the man said in a heavily accented voice. ‘Fuck off.’ He leaned against the door with one shoulder, slamming it shut with Mac outside.

‘Who are you?’ Zoe asked. Already she knew the answer didn’t matter. He had come here to kill her. She could hear Mac still barking on the other side of the door, desperate to get in to defend her. She was completely alone.

Her captor brought her two arms together and held both wrists with one large hand. She briefly wondered if this was her chance to break free. Then she saw him remove a gun from his waistband and point it at her.

‘Do not try to get away, okay?’

‘Okay.’

‘That’s sensible.’ He released her arms. ‘Now lock the door so we aren’t interrupted, okay?’

Zoe’s legs shook as she walked the few steps to the front door, lifted the handle to engage the high-security lock and reached for the key. What was he going to do to her? Perhaps he intended to make her death look like a robbery gone wrong, or an extreme sex attack. As the narrow hall seemed to close in around her, it took all her self-control not to sink to the floor and curl up into a ball in the corner.