‘Yes, convenient that, wasn’t it? That Imrie wasn’t able to deny being the random killer of six innocent people. Well, five innocent people and Wallace Ogilvie.’
Yes, very convenient, DS Narey. Fuck you. Fuck you. Silent screaming at full blast. Fuck you.
‘Fuck you!’ I was shouting again. ‘It has nothing to do with me if it was convenient for anyone else or inconvenient for you. Leave me alone and go and catch some criminals. That’s what you are paid for.’
She smiled. I so wanted to wipe that smile off her pretty face.
‘You’re right. That is what I’m paid for. Although some of them I’d happily catch for nothing.’
She let that hang there. Challenging me. She knew nothing. She couldn’t know.
‘Go do it then. Come talk to me again when you have something to say.’
‘I’ll do that.’
‘Fine. Now fuck off.’
She looked at me. Those hard brown eyes burrowing into me. She knew something that she couldn’t know.
Then with one last smile, she gave a slight nod, spun on her heels and left me standing there.
As I watched her back disappear into the Merchant City shadows, I knew what had to be done. There was no choice.
Sweet Rachel was too close, too smart, too persistent.
There had to be one more death.
CHAPTER 49
There was a note on the kitchen table saying she would be home by five. Dinner in the fridge if I couldn’t wait. Have it together if I could hang on.
I could wait. I wanted to wait.
All those times that I did anything and everything to avoid sitting here sharing a meal or, worse, a conversation. Now I wanted nothing more than to be here when she came in and to sit with her.
Still didn’t want to talk about Sarah. Still didn’t want to talk about drunk drivers. Still didn’t want to talk about Wallace Ogilvie. Still didn’t want to talk about the so-called Cutter. Didn’t want to reopen ugly old wounds. Wanted to heal some.
All those times I couldn’t talk. About those things or any other. Just couldn’t bear sitting there, being alive. So guilty to be breathing when I failed to protect the one person I was supposed to. That was my job, my duty and I failed.
Had always wanted to suffer that guilt alone. Much easier that way.
My own pain was hard enough to bear without having to endure hers too. Didn’t want her pain adding to or detracting from mine. Enough was enough.
Tonight was different. Needed to speak with her. Needed the time together.
The front door opened at five to five and my heart jumped at the sound of it. Eight strides and she would be in the kitchen. The squeak of the door handle. Turning so slowly. In.
She seemed surprised to see me there. More surprised to see me get out of my chair and head for the fridge.
‘Not eaten yet?’ she asked.
‘Thought I’d wait.’
‘Oh. Right. Well, I’ll put it on then.’
‘It’s OK. I’m getting it. Sit down. You’ve had a long day.’
She slipped her coat off without taking her eyes off me. Wary almost. Hung it on the back of the door with barely a glance at the hook.
I could feel her looking at me as I put the casserole dish in the oven, ready-heated. Knew she was watching me and wondering.
I collected two plates from the cupboard on the wall and fetched cutlery from the drawer. All the time she said nothing. Just watched.
I sat the plates in front of her and took my seat. I didn’t know what I was going to say but I knew I was going to speak first. She deserved that to happen at least once in seven years. Wasn’t easy for me, old habits. This was an effort. Had to hurry or she would talk. Wanted this done right. I spoke.
‘How did your day go?’
She smiled slowly.
‘My day?’
‘Yeah, your meeting with the traffic police. How was it?’
‘It… it went really well.’
‘How er, how many of your group went along?’
‘There was about eight of us.’
I was thinking that maybe meant four but didn’t say so. Calling her a liar wasn’t where I wanted to go.
‘Right. Good turnout.’
It wasn’t much but it was enough. She was encouraged to tell me about her whole day and the day before. I listened and asked a couple of questions.
We were still talking about her campaign when the dinner was ready. Maybe it was the break while I served up but she shifted the subject. I guess the campaign had put her halfway there.
‘We were talking about him today. The superintendent knew who I was. Knew all about him and what happened…’
I interrupted.
‘So did you get the answer you wanted from the cops?’
‘What?’
‘About the random tests near schools.’
‘They, well, they said they would have to get back to us. Again. Said they’d need to talk to the schools. But the superintendent who knew about him said…’
‘I guess they have to make sure the schools are onside or else it isn’t going to work. Don’t you think?’
She either took the hint or else was just happy to launch into a discussion about safety outside schools. She was off and running and it was fully fifteen minutes before she mentioned the killer. Or rather, before she talked about Keith Imrie.
‘I always hated that man for the story he wrote,’ she said out of nowhere. ‘But oh my God, I never thought…’ her voice trailed off.
Couldn’t have this conversation. Not tonight. Had to keep those voices out. Had to switch it.
‘Newspapers. Can’t trust anyone in them. Did that guy from the Herald ever get back to you about the zero alcohol campaign?’
I knew she couldn’t resist that. A particular bee in her bonnet.
‘No, he hasn’t. I need to phone him again because he…’
It was enough. Cheap tactic but necessary. Couldn’t have her going down that road. The gnawing was back in my stomach and I couldn’t feed it further. Needed it to be calm. Needed it to be different.
I listened and manoeuvred. Kept her away from anything that would inflame either of us. All the time resisting the urge that ate away at me. Telling myself I was in control. It was done. It was all but over. One more move. Couldn’t think about that. Control it.
She kept talking as I cleared the plates and filled the dishwasher. Had to change the subject again. Her campaign was the lesser of the possible evils but it was bound to bring talk of Ogilvie and Imrie round again. Wanted more peace than that could possibly offer.
I leapt at an unlikely tangent and brought up our first holiday in Corfu when she was pregnant but didn’t yet know. We’d stayed in a tiny studio halfway up a dirt track but thought it was the height of luxury. She remembered us hiring a moped and me crashing it with her on the back. If we’d known she was carrying Sarah then we’d never have been on it. No harm done though.
