Hunt Hunted Murder Murdered (11 page)

10

Police sirens sounded again as Monica and Marie ran from the vehicle. Mon looked across the darkness and saw torchlights, vehicle headlights shining across and so many officers milling around.

A body bag.

Marie let out a scream and made to run to the scene but was restrained by a burly constable who was attaching police tape to the fence posts.

‘Sorry, love, you can’t go through’

‘But it’s my husband.’

Still he restrained her, but Marie screamed out

‘Bo-----b!’

Monica just stood, hand over her mouth. Disbelief setting in. Eyes tearful. Fearing the worst.

'Marie! I'm over here.’ The voice from the ambulance led to an acknowledgement from the policeman that Marie could run over to her fiancé.

Aidrian looked up and searched the horizon for Mon. He would be OK now the paramedics were here. Still in a daze he prayed for a beautiful sight. No more secrets. He held his stare as the blur became a person, became a beautiful sight, the most beautiful - his Mon. She turned and he could see her eyes glistening. She saw him as she turned, despite the mass of police and emergency service crew who were purposefully moving about, doing their jobs, taping the crime scene, wearing the necessary white coats and surgical gloves, and she smiled. For him.

One tear ran down her face and before more could follow Aidrian felt her embrace as she forced her head, with deep sobs, into his shoulder.

‘Are you OK?’

‘Yes. A wee bit sore. But I’m fine’

‘What about the others?’

‘I think Spiv is going to be OK, now, but he was in a pretty bad state. Bob’s fine, but I guess you can hear that.’

Mon looked at him through tear filled eyes, gave a chuckle, then fell silent again, her head back against Aid’s shoulder.

'Why didn't you tell me about the letters?'

'I couldn't worry you. I didn't want to scare you.'

'You need to talk to me Aid. A problem shared...'

'I know. I know.' He held her tight and she reciprocated. 'No more secrets.'

'No more secrets'. Mon stared into his eyes with her wet, red eyes. The truth was going to hurt, but no more than all the stuff that had come before.

'Bob and I did something stupid, and we are going to have to pay for it.'

'It's OK. Whatever it is. I'll be here for you.' She held his cheeks softly with her hands.

‘I was just doing it for you and the kids.

I'm so sorry. I promise that I'll never keep anything from you anymore'

There was a shout from nearby.

'You stupid fucker!' Marie's voice was loud and shrill. She jumped down from the back door of the ambulance, looking at Mon in despair.

'Did you hear what Bob did?'

Aid looked into his lap. Mon was still holding onto him warmly.

'Just went and lost his fuckin job.....again!'

'How?'

'By being a twat!'

'Marie, I'm sorry. I'm an Idiot. Marie? Come back and talk to me; I never finished the story...'

Hearing Bob’s voice echoing from the back of the ambulance, brought a wave of happiness to Aid. He caught Mon's eye, and he laughed. He laughed hard, so hard that tears welled and words couldn't form. Mon laughed too, and her tears of worry and sadness turned to cries of hilarity.

'Fuck sake. I don't believe you two!' Marie paused by them.

Aid couldn't get the words out quick enough.

'And that’s you before you hear what else we got involved in.' Aid continued to laugh.

'Oh don't Aid. Just don't'. Monica warned him, but the laughter was contagious.

'What you all laughing at?' Bob quizzed from within the medics cabin. No-one answered. They just continued to laugh together.

'Aid? What’s happening? Marie, are you OK. Marie? Talk to me. Please.'

Mon cuddled in tight to Aid again.

'I'm glad I'm with you, Aidrian Burgess, and when you get home I'll be glad to become your missus.'

'Really?'

'Really.' They snuggled together and kissed.

'Oh get a room!’, Marie chirped up arms still folded tight..

'What’s happening? Marie? I'm sorry. Please talk to me, I cannae move. I’m sorry about your car'. Bob once again shouted from out of their view.

‘What about my car?’ Marie asks Aid. He nods towards the house, where the rear end of Marie’s car is barely visible beneath debris.

She needed no words. Marie rolled her eyes, sighed heavily, turned and walked back to Bob.

'What made you want to be my wife?' Aid looked into Mons eyes, holding her firmly round the waist.

'Well, I couldn't say for sure my Aidrian, but I think they may just let wives in to prisons for consummation!' She smirked cheekily, as police officers gathered round.

11

The Last Moments of Ollie Ingram

Ollie loved sitting listening to the jukebox in the bar. 60’s were her dad’s favourites. 70’s the preference of her mum. She liked them all, but particularly love songs at the moment. She laid her books out on one of the old wooden tables and sat up on her knees to finish off Maths and Chemistry work. So much homework meant less time to email her friends about the new man in her life. At 13 she was in love. Not puppy love. True love. Just he didn’t know it yet.

Ian Ingram worked days at the golf club and, being the club pro, had invested in this picturesque bar on the Stirling – St Andrews road. It had had a great reputation for food and functions, which helped it to survive - as did the loyal patrons of the village who paid their way with daily investments of lager, whisky, scampi fries and fags.

He wiped down the bar, glanced over at his daughter and left her to her homework and day-dreams.

Pam Watters came in from the cold to start her shift. The bar extended through from the area which had once been occupied by the stables. She put her coat and bag through the back so she didn’t appear late and busily got on with her work, cleaning glasses and making sure the stock was prepared for tonight. Quiz night. Of all the nights in the week Thursday night was the busiest. Pam would work, then get picked up by her boyfriend Simon, who would take her back to his – so she could get to an early lecture next day. Ollie Ingram looked up, smirked over at Pam, and got back to doodling on her workbook. Pam walked off. No patrons to serve, but they would start appearing soon.

A vehicle crunched over the loose pebbles on the driveway and passed the pub to the rear. The quiz master would be getting his night gig materials in place.

Ollie knew the area would be filling up shortly and pre-empted this by packing up her things and, throwing her schoolbag over her shoulder.

‘I’m going to my room Dad’ was followed by a muffled response from her father who was busily searching for something in the cellar. Her room was in the main house - an outhouse away to the back and side of the pub. She left by the front door. A familiar car pulled up and she went weak at the knees and breathless.

‘Hi Ollie. You OK?’

‘Yeah. Hi. Yeah, I’m good. Fine.’

‘Where you off to?’

‘Nowhere, just hanging out.’

‘Want to go for a ride?’

‘Sure.’

Ollie got in the car, giggling like the schoolchild she was, and the car took off out of the village.

Ian Ingram called through. ‘We need lime cordial’

Pam walked back into the bar, scooping the car keys off the counter.

‘I’ll go Mr Ingram’

The car was warm, Ollie was quiet. Simon talked to her, and she answered quickly and politely. She didn't want to make a fool of herself. She had heard about Simon from Pam when they were talking about boyfriends in the bar. She had listened to her stories and how nice Simon was to her. How he had kissed her for the first time and how excited she had been. How excited she always was. Simon was the only man she had wanted and now here she was – Ollie - lucky enough to be sitting with him now. Making small talk. Was this foreplay? It had passed the flirting stage, and when he touched her knee and rubbed his hand up her school skirt, she had feelings inside she had never felt before, anxiety and excitement. Terrified but completely besotted, she watched him as he drove away from town and towards Olive Island. She knew of Olive Island. It was not too far from town and was a well known hot-spot for courting couples. Her friends had boasted of good times, but Ollie had been saving herself. Only a kiss or two under the mistletoe at the school disco, which had led to embarrassing morning-after discussions, wolf whistles and sneered laughter from jealous boys and jealous girls. This was not embarrassing though. Simon was 30. A man. And he would be her first. Maybe her only. In the back of her mind she thought about how Pam might feel, but it was only fleeting. If Pam knew how much she loved Simon, she would understand. She would understand.

The car drove up to a gate and parked. Simon turned and stroked Ollie's face. He was smiling at her. Did he love her too? She would find out soon. She moved forward to kiss him. He kissed her back roughly and she felt his tongue in her mouth. His skin was jagged with stubble, but she didn't mind. She would tell her friends about her first kiss. It was going to be memorable.

'Want to go for a walk?' Simon asked

'OK', Ollie responded. They were quickly out of the car, and Simon climbed the gate first, holding Ollie's hand to help her to climb. A car was coming up the lane and Simon squinted. He gripped her hand and waist to bring her down safely over the gate, and Ollie kept hold of Simon's hand as they walked from the trees into the open field. It was January and it was dark - really dark. So crossing the field felt free and Ollie ran, with Simon leading the way across the grass. The mud would be noticed by her mum and she would have to lie. She would not be telling her mum about her first time. She could only see Simon's profile now - very masculine, big cheekbones, slight face - but to her he was the one. He was gorgeous.

Simon looked back to the road. The car must have pulled into the cottage. He was comfortable - and as they reached the first batch of trees which made up Olive Island he grabbed Ollie's waist and embraced her. Again tongues touched tongues. It felt like forever and Ollie wished it would never end. Soon he was unbuttoning her jacket, asking always if she was OK, not too cold. Ollie said she was fine and tried to open his jeans. He laughed that his belt was on. Maybe they should take things slow. Ollie agreed and let him under her top and inside her knickers with his hand, but nothing else would happen. She was excited and felt good, but also relieved as she didn't want to disappoint him. They cuddled and talked for a little while. She chittered, and he put his scarf around her to keep her warm. Small talk only. But Ollie felt warm and could have lived forever there in his arms. She felt safe. But soon he had to leave.

They soon went back to the car.

'Do you want a lift back?' Ollie wanted nothing more than to talk to her friends about her night.

'No, it's OK. I'm going to pop into Helen's on the way back'

'You sure?'

'Yeah. I’ll be fine.'

'OK', Simon kissed her cheek and looked her in the eyes. 'Well, I'll see you soon'. He winked at her as he made his way to the driver’s seat.

She wanted him to embrace her again, but that would have to wait and, as she waved him off, she looked in her schoolbag for her mobile. As she rummaged in her bag she was unaware of someone approaching.

'Hello Ollie', the familiar female voice spoke to her as Simon's car veered off to the right and out of sight.

'Oh hello', Ollie was nervous and held her illuminated telephone in her hand having identified the person as Pamela Watters.

'I think we need to have a little talk, don't you?'

12

Ian Ingram stepped out of the courtroom door and the low winter sun shone right across him. A tear appeared in the corner of his eye. He left it there as he breathed in some air. Fresh and free.

A microphone had been set up in the corner of the platform. Photographers called for him to look at them. 'Mr Ingram, how do you feel about your release?' was asked in various guises. 'Can you tell us what you think of Aidrian Burgess and Bob Reilly who helped you out'. He would answer no questions, he was no celebrity and only wanted this stage for his Ollie. His angel.

'Eighteen months ago I was sitting talking to my daughter about her school work. Twelve months ago I found my daughter, and the body of a man who appeared to have killed her, close to our home. Today I am free to re-enter society having spent a year of my life thinking only of the daughter who was so cruelly taken from me, my wife, her friends, our family. My crime is that I allowed myself to trust another and I have more than paid for my crime. My Olivia also paid for the same crime. Today I thank those people who helped me to clear my name. Friends of the innocent man who died the night I found the lifeless body of my wee girl. I thank them and apologise to them for what they also have had to go through.

Finally I want to say sorry.

Sorry, Olivia Jane Ingram,

For allowing the devil to come into our lives,

For letting evil take you away from us,

For letting a dark angel in to take you away.

That's all I have to say.'

13

The doorbell rang. Saturday morning.

Little Ellie bounced to the door.

‘Mum? It’s the Postie’

Monica was showered and sat staring at herself quite motionless in the dressing table mirror.

Today she would become Mrs Burgess.

‘It’s a parcel’, Ellie shouted up again.

‘OK, I’ll be there in a minute’

Aidrian was home again. Not now, he wasn’t at home right now, in fact he was at his mothers, spending his last night as a bachelor in his family home. But Mon and Aid had planned all this. The wedding planning and organization had taken up time and made Aid’s jail term pass quickly. And now the big day was here.

‘Mum? Can I wear my pink high heels?’

‘Ellie. Just wait. I’ll get you sorted in a minute.’ She was just as excited as her mum. Mon puffed out an anxious sigh. Not nervous, just anticipation for the overwhelming day that she faced and would remember for evermore. She stood up and walked out of the room.

CITV played from the TV on the kitchen unit, and Ellie danced on her seat as another boy-band shook their bums and sang an inoffensive tune. She’d be dancing to it later. Kettle on, mug out of the top cupboard. No need to rake for clothes. All new, apart from the borrowed and blue.

Now she spots the parcel. It is brown paper wrapped and unusual. It is intriguing. She is not nervous. Anxious maybe. Excited, certainly. She peels back the top paper layer, and exposes further layers below. She rips at it. Tears the paper until it is exposed.

Monica stares at a white box. It has a gold trim. It is unfamiliar. It is new to her. She opens it. Slowly the box contents emerge, and a small square card sits on top of the item. She opens the envelope. A card. A blank card that sits on top of a light blue band. A band of material, shaped like a hoop. A scarf? A strap? No, a garter.

Mon reads the card.

‘Miss you Mon. Sorry I’ve not been in touch. This is for you. Hope it brings you better times than it brought me. Something old for your big day. Love you guys, Emm. X’