Cold Grave (28 page)

‘You’re kidding me, right? What’s this “we” stuff. You’re not a cop. How would you know something like that?’

Winter was very close to telling the guy to go fuck himself but managed to settle for a patronising smile, at the same time digging deep into his acquired repertoire of stock police responses.

‘I’m sorry to say that’s not for you to know, sir. All you do need to know is that a detective sergeant is on her way over here and if she finds that I haven’t photographed Mr Deans, then both you and I will be in a lot of trouble — a lot.’

Meldrum stuck his tongue into his cheek as he looked in the other direction, clearly unhappy but accepting that he could do nothing about it.

‘Right, just get on with it then. I really don’t see the point in this at all. He is extremely drowsy and ought not to be exerted. I’ll give you five minutes.’

You’ll give me as long as I need, Winter thought to himself. And you’ll give us even longer once Rachel gets here. He ducked back behind the curtain, leaving the grumbling doctor behind, and saw that Deans still had his eyes closed.

He quickly drew his Nikon from his bag and quietly lined up a full-length shot of the man on the hospital bed. At once, he saw the vivid flashes where the blood stained him at angry grates on his knees and inner thigh. A large discoloured welt had already formed near his shoulder, doubtless soon to turn the purple of a severe bruising. There was also a large piece of fine gauze covering the cut on his head. Winter focused and fired off a few shots, the clack-clack of the camera shutter causing Deans’ eyes to flutter open.

‘Who are you?’ he asked blearily, unable to focus.

‘Tony Winter. I was at your house with Detective Sergeant Narey.’

Deans gazed back at him, clearly trying to sort his muddled brain into some kind of order.

‘Oh. Right.’ He thought some more. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I’m photographing your injuries. You do know that you’ve had a bad fall?

‘Hm? Yes, yes. They told me. But why photograph me?’

‘I think you’ll need to ask DS Narey that. She’ll be here soon.’

Deans looked confused by the suggestion. Doubtless he’d had enough of Rachel haranguing him at his house without having her nip his bruised and battered head some more. The man closed his eyes again and Winter couldn’t tell if he was sleeping or merely letting him get on with it. Either way, he wasn’t going to wait to be asked. He took a few steps closer, moving to the left side of the bed, instinctively changing the camera lens in preparation for some close-up work.

Winter itched to take off the gauze that covered the wound on the right side of Deans’ temples. He wanted to see and to photograph the extent of the abrasion that had occurred when Deans had learned that being between The Rock and a hard place was no fun at all. Still, the gauze was paper thin and his lens could pick out most of the lacerations caused by the stone steps. They’d clearly torn at his skin, leaving it as raw as if it had been shredded with a cheese grater. The result was a streak of blood from temple to jaw that left its mark on the snow-white pillow Deans rested on. The contrast appealed to Winter as it always did.

Deans’ eyes flickered as the camera shutter rattled off frames above his head. He looked directly up at Winter and the photographer couldn’t help but fire off another exposure, catching the look of wariness on the man’s face. He apologised quietly but both of them knew he didn’t mean it.

‘Can I see your palms, please, Mr Deans?’

The man didn’t say a word but slowly raised his arms from the bed and turned his hands over so that the soft, white flesh showed the lurid scrapes where he’d clawed unsuccessfully at concrete on his way down. Winter closed in on the abrasions, the rip of tissue and the bloody patches where skin should have been.

‘You finished?’ Deans asked him sourly.

‘Nearly.’

Winter swapped his Nikon for the Fuji IS Pro, the ultraviolet infrared camera that would be able to pick up bruising invisible to the eye. He snapped both legs, concentrating around the knees, the torso and arms. Sure enough, it picked up a few extra bumps that would otherwise have gone unseen but not quite enough to satisfy someone with Winter’s hunger. He could feel the familiar rush of blood in his ears as he contemplated whether a hand somehow reached from Lily to Deans despite a gap of nearly twenty years.

Voices close behind him abruptly broke his reverie. It was the doctor, Meldrum, and he had someone with him.

‘He has a fractured left wrist, concussion and severe bruising to his hip, knee and head,’ Meldrum was saying. ‘His difficulty breathing suggests he may have fractures to his seventh and eighth ribs. All things considered, Sergeant, he’s a lucky man.’

‘Thank you, doctor. You’ve been very helpful. If you could leave us now, please. It’s imperative that I speak to Mr Deans now — alone.’

‘No problem at all. If you need anything else, I’ll be just over there. Nice to meet you.’

Meldrum smiled ingratiatingly at Narey and left them to it, although not before firing a disapproving scowl in Winter’s direction.

‘How are you, Mr Deans?’ Narey asked him after the doctor had gone.

‘Sore and sleepy.’

‘You’re a very lucky man. That’s what the doctor reckons.’

‘Funny. I don’t feel too lucky.’

‘No, I don’t suppose you do. We need to talk, Mr Deans. I need you to tell me exactly what’s going on.’

Deans blinked and looked up at her.

‘I fell. That’s all I know.’

Narey’s voice hardened as her patience thinned.

‘Mr Deans, I need you to be honest with me and to think carefully. Did you hear or feel anything before you fell?’

Deans sighed and took his time before answering.

‘I’d parked my car and started to go down to the steps. I was just at the top when I think there were… footsteps. Behind me. I didn’t think anything of it — didn’t have time to really. Then it all seemed to happen at once. I just knew I was falling. My head was below my feet and I felt my head rattle, then… then it was all dark. Next thing I knew I woke up in here.’

‘You fell down two flights of steps, Mr Deans. I don’t think you could have done that without someone making sure of it.’

Deans looked confused until her meaning dawned on him.

‘What? You think I was pushed?’

‘Yes. Do you remember that happening?’

Deans opened his mouth as if to speak, then screwed his eyes shut, searching his memory.

‘I don’t know. The footsteps and me falling happened almost simultaneously. I suppose I could have been. I’m sorry. I just don’t know.’

Narey turned to Winter and regarded him as if he were any other hired help.

‘Which officers were at the scene of the incident?’

‘PCs Murray and Boyle. They were interviewing people at the scene, looking for witness.’

‘And did anyone report having seen Mr Deans fall?’

‘No, sergeant. Murray told me two people in the pub heard Mr Deans scream as he fell but no one saw it.’

Narey nodded at the cop, then turned back to Deans.

‘If the footsteps at the top of the stairs weren’t connected to your fall, then I’d like to know why the person didn’t stop to help you. Or at least tell someone they’d seen you fall.’

Deans’ eyes widened and his mouth fell open.

‘Someone pushed me,’ he stuttered. ‘Tried to kill me?’

‘It looks that way, Mr Deans.’

Narey let the suggestion settle for a few moments, hoping it would suitably frighten him.

‘Mr Deans, I’m going to have a police officer posted outside this ward until you are able to go home. I will then have an officer assigned to watch your home.’

‘What? You really think that’s necessary?’

Narey let slip an exasperated sigh.

‘Yes, I do, Mr Deans. I think that whoever tried to push you down those steps wants you dead and will try again. There’s every chance that he or she will succeed — unless you let us help you, unless you tell us what you know about what happened to Barbie.’

It was as if she had slapped Deans across the face. The mention of the girl’s name, and the very fact that Narey knew it, had clearly shocked him. A single tear trickled down Deans’ cheek, then his eyes slowly closed as he nodded his head in a gesture of defeat. As he did so, Winter surreptitiously fired off a single shot of his camera, capturing the man in his moment of surrender.

‘You’ll tell us about what happened at the Lake of Menteith?’

With his eyes still closed, Deans nodded again.

‘And you’ll tell us about Laurence Paton? And about whoever else was involved?’

Deans continued nodding his blind, compliant submission until at last he opened his wet eyes and looked up at Narey.

‘I’ll tell you everything. Just help me.’

Seeing Rachel work was something Winter rarely got the chance to do at first hand. She was always at pains to make sure there were reels of police tape to keep him at arm’s length or preferably further. When other cops or SPSA staff were around, which was almost always, she’d make sure he wasn’t too close. But now, with Greg Deans in her sights, Winter was all but forgotten. She and Deans only had eyes for each other and Winter relished the chance of a front row seat.

He wondered if she felt as he did at that moment: hairs standing up on the back of his neck, heart beating just that little bit faster, pulse racing. He could almost taste what was to come but then he was just an amateur. This was her job and maybe this was routine, all in a day’s work. He doubted it.

Deans had his chin on his chest, defeat written all over his face, struggling to come to terms with what had happened to him. Winter saw his reaction for what it was and hid a smile as Rachel opted not to allow him time to compose himself.

‘We’re listening, Mr Deans,’ she told him.

His head came up slowly, the resentment in his eyes reserved solely for Narey. Whatever it was that he was about to tell them, it was clear he’d much rather keep it to himself.

‘Before I tell you, I want some… assurances.’

‘I may not be in the position to offer those, Mr Deans. What do you want?’

‘I can give you information about a high-profile case. In return for that information, all I’m asking is that my wife and daughter be protected from all this. I want them kept out of it.’

‘If, by that,’ Narey responded, ‘you mean we don’t tell them of your involvement, then that might not be something I’m able to guarantee. But I’ll do my best.’

‘I need to know that I can trust you, Sergeant.’

‘That goes two ways, Mr Deans. Tell me your story and I’ll do what I can. I’m making no promises.’

Deans looked at her for an age, trying to decide if that was good enough for him. In the end, he must have realised it was the best and only deal he was going to get.

‘There were four of us,’ he began reluctantly. ‘Myself, Laurence, Adam Mosson and Peter Bradley. We weren’t all best of pals. Laurence and I were pretty close and we got on well with Adam. Paddy was Adam’s mate and, to be honest, Laurence and I weren’t so keen on him. He was a bit of a loud mouth, a real chancer who was always banging on about how successful he was with the girls. Adam was a good guy, very different from Paddy, so we put up with his pal. Anyway, we went away for a weekend together.

‘It was always a bit of a daft idea. Staying in this bothy that Laurence had been to before near the Pass of Leny in the Trossachs. You know the sort of thing, a restored stone building — an old farmworker’s cottage I think this one was — that is left unlocked for shared use. It wasn’t exactly the season for it but Laurence was keen on all that outdoor stuff and he was insistent that it would be great.

‘The idea was just to get away from studying for a while, take a couple of bottles of whisky and some beer and do some hillwalking. We’d all been on teacher placement and it had been really hard going — or it seemed so at the time. What a lot of fuss we made then over nothing! We talked Adam into going and he invited Paddy along. I wasn’t too happy with that but Laurence was cool with it; he said the more the merrier. It would have been okay if the bad weather hadn’t kicked in. It was bloody freezing and Adam and Paddy were for pulling out. I mean, it got seriously cold. Minus eighteen degrees, so they said. Laurence talked them into it, though; accused them of being afraid of a wee bit of snow. So we went. Adam drove us in this battered old Volvo he’d got from his dad. We loaded it up with booze and headed to the Trossachs. The roads were terrible and it took us ages to get there. Then we had to walk the last half mile or so across six inches of snow to get to the bothy. It really wasn’t a great idea.

‘We got a good fire going inside but the wind was still blowing a gale under the door. After a few hours we’d just about had enough of the cold and decided to go to a pub so we could get some heat. We walked back to the car and Adam drove to the Lade Inn at Kilmahog. It was just what the doctor ordered: an open fire and large whiskies. And… well, that was where we met her.’

Deans let his head dip again, avoiding their eyes. Winter had the urge to grab Deans by the hair and yank his head back up to face them. But the man went on with his tale, despite continuing to stare at his chest.

‘She was in the pub, sitting on her own by the bar, chatting to the old boy behind the bar. She was good looking: long blonde hair tied back and a pretty face. She was only a little thing, barely over five foot, and we thought she was a couple of years younger than us. It was Paddy, of course, who went in first. He went straight up to her and started giving her this load of patter. It seemed to work, though, because next thing she was over at our table and we were all having a great laugh…’

Deans’ voice faltered, the mention of laughter sitting uneasily with the rest of his story. He lifted his head, staring sullenly at them.