Gone Again (12 page)

He walked back along the prom. The crazy wind had picked up again and he welcomed the insult of it in his face, relished the resistance to his walking and breathing that it provided. Life was resistance now, just trudging on in the face of it.

The whales were back. He’d lost track of their story, hadn’t they made it out the firth and into the North Sea? Fucking morons. There was a camera crew set up on the sand, at least one newspaper reporter and photographer that Mark could see, though he didn’t recognise them, must be from a different paper. He thought about the
Standard
. He hadn’t answered his phone or emails from them. Probably lost the freelance gig now. Add it to the list of things that had fallen apart. On the beach, a handful of punters were pointing camera phones out to sea. Everyone was a photographer now anyway, his days were numbered.

Fins and snouts were circling and cutting through the wash a hundred yards out. It couldn’t be very deep there at all. There were two coastguard boats now, they’d obviously enlisted some help. They were doing a piss-poor job of herding the pilot whales. A couple of guys in waders and waterproofs were standing in the shallows slapping at the water with large tools like snow shovels. Splash, splash. It made sod-all difference to the whales, who were oblivious to the whole thing. If they wanted to kill themselves, why didn’t everyone just let them die?

Mark watched the display for a while, mind churning like the waves. He had to find out about Lauren. But he didn’t trust the police to do anything. He would have to find out himself. At least the police didn’t seem to seriously think he had anything to do with it, despite all that bullshit about the restraining order and the anger management.

Strangled, Jesus.

He raised a trembling hand to his head and leaned against the concrete seawall. Closed his eyes. Felt the wind buffeting him, trying to knock him off balance.

‘Excuse me.’

He opened his eyes. A little boy about three was standing on the wall, his mum thirty yards back, struggling to catch up.

‘What?’ Mark said.

‘Can you move, please?’

Mark frowned. The boy looked at Mark’s body, slumped on the wall.

‘Sorry?’ Mark said.

‘Can you move?’

The mum caught up. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said to Mark, then to the boy: ‘Come down, Aidan, stop bothering the man.’

She helped him jump off the wall and held his hand as they walked round Mark, then she lifted him back on to the wall.

Mark suddenly understood what the boy had been asking. Why hadn’t he realised at the time? Stupid, stupid. Like he was in a trance.

‘Sorry,’ he said.

The woman turned a little and looked back.

Mark shouted to her. ‘Sorry, I didn’t realise.’

The woman made a flustered wave and carried on walking with the boy.

Aidan. Sounded a bit like Nathan. He remembered Nathan at that age, the toilet training, getting him out of his cot and into his first bed. The occasional tantrums, the obsessive phases. He’d levelled off now, a good kid, solid, sensible, sweet-natured. How would all this affect him?

He thought about the unborn baby. He would never have all that stuff again, the sleepless newborn panic, the delirious, frazzled mania of it. He pictured Lauren naked on a slab in the morgue, her body cut open, the embryo nestled inside, sucking her thumb.

He leaned over the wall and puked, thin bile dripping down the concrete and making tiny holes in the sand. He gave himself over to the involuntary spasms, gave up control of his body, drowned himself in the freedom of loss.

People walked past pretending to ignore him. No one stopped. He wouldn’t stop either if he was them.

He spat, the wind tugging a string of phlegm from his mouth. He wiped his face with his sleeve. He rubbed at his wet eyes, blinked and looked out to sea. The guys standing in the water were still slapping at the surface, the whales circling near the shore, the speedboats cutting through the waves. The world was just carrying on whether he gave up on it or not.

He turned and headed up Marlborough Street.

Just outside the flat, he saw a young woman coming towards him. She had big eyes and long brown hair, and was carrying a notepad. He didn’t recognise her, but he recognised her type from working with plenty of reporters over the years.

‘Mr Douglas?’

‘I have nothing to say to you.’

‘My name is Debbie McAlpine.’

‘I don’t care what your name is, I’m not talking to you.’

‘I’m from the
Daily Record
. I’m so sorry to hear about your wife, Mr Douglas.’

So she was a redtop. Digging deeper, bigger budgets, more hungry for scandal. It didn’t bode well that they were already on this.

The woman tucked her hair behind her ear. ‘I was just wondering if I could have a reaction from you to the news?’

‘No comment.’

‘Do you know if the police suspect foul play?’

Mark shook his head.

‘I believe you’ve just come from the police station. What did they say? Were they interviewing you?’

Mark took a step towards her. ‘Leave me alone.’

She lowered the notepad. ‘It’s better for you if you speak to me, Mr Douglas. You don’t want to get on the wrong side of the
Daily Record
.’

Mark clenched his fists at his sides. ‘It’s better for you if you leave me the hell alone.’

‘Are you threatening me, Mr Douglas?’

Mark turned from her. ‘Just go away.’

He opened the door, went inside and closed it. Leaned against the wall of the stairwell, squeezing his fists and trying to get his breathing back to normal.

He heard a familiar tinny sound as he opened the door of the flat, the ‘Imperial March’ from
Star
Wars
. Nathan’s DS. He ran his hand over the broken lock, rough splinters sticking out. He snagged one on his finger, flinched, but then pushed his finger on to it until he saw a spot of blood appear.

‘How was it?’

Ruth behind him. He sucked at his finger and turned.

‘OK.’ Mark looked past her to the living room. Nathan was on the sofa, head down, immersed in his fantasy world. Maybe that’s how he’d get through all this, live in the
Star Wars
universe till it was safe to come back to reality. ‘How have things been here?’

He and Lauren used to have a routine, every day when she came in from work. How was your day, dear? Nice day at the office, dear? Not funny, not a joke, but just a way of saying, amongst it all, that they were still close. They were mocking the emotionally distant husband and wife cliché of seventies sitcoms that they both vaguely remembered.

Ruth turned to look at Nathan. ‘Great,’ she said. ‘We’ve been having a good time, haven’t we, Nathan?’

Nathan paused his DS game and looked up. ‘Yeah.’

‘Tell Daddy what we’ve been up to.’

Nathan looked puzzled for a moment. Mark wondered about his attention span with that bloody console. That horse had bolted long ago, of course. Nathan smiled as he remembered.

‘We baked some cakes.’

Mark realised he could smell it. Why hadn’t he noticed before, were his senses shutting down on him? The warm waft of baking filled the flat. He couldn’t remember ever having that smell in the place before. He and Lauren weren’t exactly domestic gods.

‘Why don’t you go and get them from the kitchen,’ Ruth said to Nathan. ‘They’ve probably cooled down by now.’

Nathan shot up and through the house, came back in with a grin and a plate of cupcakes covered in white icing and edible
Star Wars
stickers. Mark picked a Death Star one, Nathan took a Yoda one.

‘Can I still play my DS even though you’re home, Daddy?’

‘Of course.’

The boy flumped back on to the sofa and the Darth Vader theme started up.

‘Would you like a cup of something?’ Ruth said. Like it was her house.

‘I’ll get it,’ Mark said, staring at the top of Nathan’s head, the whorls of hair, the dizzying spread of follicles.

Ruth touched his arm and led him through to the kitchen. She made tea in a teapot. He never usually drank tea, only Lauren did that, and he didn’t even know they had a teapot. Where did Ruth find it?

They sat at the dining table, steam from their mugs disappearing into the air between them. Ruth was wearing the same green cardigan she’d had on at her house. Her hair was in a bun. She looked older every time he saw her, or maybe that was just Mark.

‘He’s a good boy,’ she said, nodding down the hall.

‘Yeah.’

‘He needs you to be strong.’

‘I know.’ Mark smelled the tea. Thought of Lauren. Thirty years from now, the smell of tea would still remind him of her. Until he died, that’s what tea would mean to him.

‘I have to find out who did it,’ he said.

Ruth tightened her mouth. ‘I think you should concentrate on being with Nathan.’

‘It’s not that simple. I have to know.’

‘I understand that, believe me. But sometimes you never find out the truth.’

Mark looked at her. The window behind her cast her features into shadow. The creases around her eyes, the extra flesh at her neck, darkness across her face.

‘You mean like with William?’

‘I don’t think this is the time to talk about that.’

Mark looked at her. ‘You know what’s strange? In a weird way, it’s good knowing that Lauren was murdered. That’s a terrible thing to say. But it’s true. Just to know what happened, and to know she didn’t do it to herself and the baby. You know?’

Ruth breathed in and out shakily. ‘I know.’

Mark took a sip of tea. ‘The police want to speak to you.’

Ruth looked surprised. ‘Really?’

‘They asked me about the restraining order.’

‘What did you tell them?’

‘The truth. That it was a terrible mistake.’ He looked out of the window. ‘They think I’m a violent person. That I might have done that to Lauren.’

Ruth looked horrified.

‘Don’t tell me it hadn’t crossed your mind as well,’ Mark said.

She shook her head. ‘It hadn’t, Mark. It really hadn’t.’

He didn’t know if that was the truth, but he was thankful to her for saying it.

‘But who could’ve done such a thing?’ she said.

‘That’s what I aim to find out.’

‘Don’t do anything dangerous. Grief can make you do the strangest things.’

‘I’ll be careful.’

‘Did the police say when they might release the body for the funeral?’

Mark scrunched his eyes shut then opened them again. He hadn’t even asked about that. He imagined someone cutting her body open and looking inside. Imagined another person placing a hand on her neck and squeezing the life out of her.

He shook his head. ‘They didn’t mention it.’

‘Well, if you need any help arranging things, I’m here.’ Behind her, the sky outside was cloudy now, a grey wall pummelling across the sky. Trees shook in the wind. Her face was more clearly visible with the sunshine gone. ‘And if you need any help looking after Nathan, please phone me.’

‘Of course.’

‘We need to take care of that wee boy of yours. He’s all we have left.’

Mark sat back in his chair but didn’t speak. There was nothing else to say. He rubbed at his face. He really needed a shave and a shower.

He heard something from the other room. The
Star Wars
music wasn’t playing any more. Instead he heard a wail he recognised.

Mark scraped his chair back and bolted through the flat. In the living room Nathan was sitting on the sofa, knees pulled up to his chin, rocking and crying, thick sobs choking out of him.

Mark held him and shushed him and spoke in a low voice, murmuring comforting words he didn’t believe in any more.

‘I wish Mummy was here,’ Nathan said between gasps, tears soaking his cheeks.

Mark was crying as he gripped the boy’s shoulders and held on.

‘I know, Big Guy. Me too.’

‘Have you spoken to Taylor yet?’

‘It’s not that simple, Mr Douglas.’

Mark was striding in circles around his kitchen, gripping the phone tight. ‘It is that simple. Speak to him, I’m sure he knows something.’

‘We sent an officer to the Caledonia Dreaming office earlier, but he wasn’t available.’

‘Wasn’t available? Jesus, this isn’t jury service, it’s a murder investigation.’

‘It’s a matter of limited resources.’

‘This is my wife we’re talking about.’

‘I understand your concern.’

‘Do you really?’

‘Mr Douglas . . .’

‘I don’t think you understand a fucking thing. How many murder investigations have you been a part of?’

‘That’s hardly relevant.’

‘I think it’s absolutely relevant.’

‘I’m trained in all manner of police investigations.’

Mark scratched the top of his head. ‘Can I speak to your superior about this, that Inspector Green?’

‘There’s no need for this hostility, Mr Douglas. If you’ll just let us get on with the investigation, we’ll keep you updated as soon as we have any more information.’

Mark puffed out a handful of deep breaths. ‘OK, there’s something else. When can I have Lauren’s body for the funeral?’

‘I’ll look into it for you. Now they’ve completed the full post-mortem, I see no reason why the body can’t be released to you soon.’

‘The body.’ Mark didn’t mean to say it out loud.

‘I’m sorry.’

Mark lifted the phone away from his ear and stared at it. He ended the call and walked through the flat to find Nathan. The boy was lying on his bed, reading a
Clone Wars
comic. One minute devastated, the next seemingly fine. How long would this shit go on, the rest of their lives?

‘We’re going out.’

‘Where are we going?’

‘Just out.’

‘Can I bring my DS?’

‘Sure.’

‘I’m hungry, Daddy.’

‘We’ll get a Maccy D on the way.’

Lauren wouldn’t be happy about that. Tough. That’s what you got when you died and left people behind, you gave up your chance to have a say in their lives.

Nathan jumped off his bed and went for his DS.

Mark dug his car key out his pocket and headed for the door.

Squally rain was spattering against the windscreen as he pulled in down the road from Caledonia Dreaming. The kind of rain that just got smudged across the glass, rather than cleared away by the wipers. Mark switched the engine off. The car was shuddering in the wind. When was it ever going to stop?

He ducked out and found a parking meter. Dug for change. Didn’t know how long he was going to be here. Just stuffed it all in the machine, pressed green. Scurried back to the car and stuck his ticket on the windscreen.

Nathan was licking salt off his fingers from the fries.

‘Come on,’ Mark said.

Nathan picked up his Fruit Shoot and his DS and squirmed out of the car into the rain. ‘Where are we going?’

Mark pointed. ‘There.’

‘Mummy’s work? Why?’

‘Never mind. Let’s go.’

They blustered into reception. Same snooty bitch at the desk. Mark pushed Nathan towards the cream sofa. The boy got his DS out and flipped it open, stuck his feet on a coffee table.

‘Hello again,’ Mark said to the receptionist.

She looked terrified.

‘I take it you’ve heard about my wife.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘What are you sorry for?’ He was pushing it, but fuck it. Fuck it all. Fuck this privileged bitch and everyone like her.

The girl was like a baby deer looking for its mummy.

‘I want to speak to Gavin Taylor,’ Mark said, voice low.

The girl frowned. ‘Mr Taylor is not available right now.’

‘I don’t give a shit if he’s available or not, just tell me if he’s in the office.’

The girl’s eyes darted, a quick glance at the doorway opposite. That was all Mark needed.

‘Nathan, stay here with this nice lady. I’ll be back in a minute.’

Nathan looked up then put his head back down to the console.

Mark strode towards the office. The girl didn’t even shout after him.

Down the corridor, remembering the last time he was here, when Lauren had only been missing for half a day. Everything had collapsed in on itself since then.

But something had hardened inside him, something vital. He could do this now. He would find out.

He pushed the door open without knocking and there was Taylor already lifting himself out of his seat.

‘Mark, I’m so sorry to hear about Lauren.’

‘Why haven’t you talked to the police?’

‘What?’

‘I just called one of the investigating detectives, she said you hadn’t spoken to them yet.’

‘Mark, sit down.’

‘I’d rather stand if it’s all the same.’

They were only a couple of feet away from each other. Mark felt energy flowing through him, like he was a lightning rod.

Taylor had a wary look in his eyes and his body was tense, ready for a fight if it came to it.

‘It’s just a misunderstanding,’ he said. ‘They called when I was out at a meeting. I called them back but the officer wasn’t around. I’ll give them a statement as soon as I can.’

‘What do you know?’

‘I told you everything when you were here the other day. Lauren came in for the morning then headed off because she had a half day.’

‘Were you fucking her?’

‘What?’

‘You heard me. Were you fucking her?’

‘Mark, I think you need to . . .’

‘I’ll ask you one last time. Did you fuck Lauren?’

Mark’s jaw was clenched, his arms rigid.

‘No, Mark, I never went near her.’

‘I can find out.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’ve got all her passwords, I can check her emails, Facebook and Twitter messages going back years. If there’s anything in there between you and her, I’ll find it.’

‘You won’t find anything.’

Mark stared into Taylor’s eyes. He thought he could see something there.

‘I can tell you’re lying.’

‘I’m not lying.’

‘You think the police won’t find out what happened?’

‘Mark, you have to calm down. I could have you arrested for coming in here and threatening me like this.’

‘Go on, get the police. Then we’ll see who’s telling the truth.’

Taylor put his hands out. Calm down and all that. Mark wanted to grab him and stab him through the neck with a pencil.

‘Just take it easy.’ Taylor was using a quiet voice, it was meant to be reassuring.

Mark grabbed Taylor by the arms and pushed, trying to knock him off balance. But Taylor was a rock, immovable. Mark swung a fist towards his head but he was too slow. Taylor swerved to avoid it then let Mark follow through, his looping arm shifting his centre of gravity and making him unsteady. Taylor shoved and Mark staggered forwards until he slammed into the wall. Taylor turned him round and pushed a forearm across his throat so he couldn’t breathe. He kicked Mark’s legs apart and tucked his knee just below his exposed groin, ready to do damage. Mark was beaten and it had taken less than five seconds.

Mark gasped for air, scrabbling at the arm pressed against his throat, but Taylor held firm.

‘I’m sorry about Lauren.’ Taylor’s voice was still low and soft, like he was reading a lullaby at bedtime. ‘But I have nothing else to say to you.’

Mark tried to glean something from Taylor, some sign of guilt, some hint of a secret, but the truth was he couldn’t see anything.

Taylor released the pressure on his windpipe and Mark slumped to the floor. Taylor stood over him, the victor over the defeated foe.

‘I think you’d better leave. Now.’