Lying Dead (28 page)

    Chris listened, his elbows on the table, his mouth covered by his hands and his eyes never leaving her face. As she finished, he said, ‘Bit rough, your husband inflicting that on you.’

    And it was a bit rough. She did feel hard done by, and sympathy was very soothing.

    ‘Yes, I know.’ She said it, aware that she was being disloyal. ‘It’s tainting everything. Bill’s a saint, but it would be nice if just occasionally he bore in mind that I’m not.

    ‘Still, it’s done now, and I just have to get on with it.’

    Chris’s eyes were very warm as he looked at her. ‘You’re quite a woman, Big Marge. If there’s ever a vacancy, give me first refusal.’

    Alarm bells rang. Marjory looked at her watch again, jumped up. ‘Good gracious, look at the time!’ She insisted on splitting the bill – somehow that seemed important – but when she got back to the hotel the luxurious bath wasn’t as relaxing as she had hoped it would be. She hesitated as she went to switch off the main lights. Should she phone HQ before she went to sleep? She’d rather expected to hear from Allan . . . But it was late, she was tired and she’d find out soon enough. Marjory climbed into bed.

    There was nothing on late-night TV that she could bear to watch, and she couldn’t get comfortable with the pillows – somehow one seemed too low and two were too high. She tried not to think that her discomfort was anything other than physical.

Jenna Murdoch was suddenly awake. She didn’t know why. She sat up in bed and looked at the clock. It was just after midnight; she was alone, and Niall’s side of the bed hadn’t been slept in.

    There had been a noise – some sort of thunderous crash – or had she dreamed it? And there was a smell – smoke! Mirren! In a panic, she flung herself out of bed, but through a chink in the curtains a flicker of red caught her eye. As she went to tear them open she realized there was a crackling roar too, coming from that direction, the terrifying sound of a fire blazing out of control.

    The bedroom window looked out across the yard to the stone-built open shed. It was well ablaze, the roof struts now nothing more than thin, charred sticks; it must have been the roof falling in that had woken her. Below, there was nothing but a boiling sea of flame.

    The dog! That was where the dog was kept chained up, surrounded by bales of straw, unwanted timber, old pots of paint. All it would take to send that lot up would be a carelessly tossed cigarette end.

    The dog, poor creature, would be dead now. There was nothing that could have withstood that raging inferno. Her main concern, as she dialled 999, was what that would do to Mirren. Devoutly hoping she was still asleep, Jenna pulled on a dressing gown and opened her bedroom door as quietly as she could.

    But Mirren wasn’t. She was out on the landing in her pyjamas. ‘What’s happening?’ she demanded when her mother appeared.

    ‘It’s all right – something’s gone on fire. The Fire Brigade will deal with it – it’s not a problem. Just go back to bed,’ Jenna said, not hopefully. But to her astonishment, for once Mirren obeyed.

    ‘OK,’ she said meekly and went back into her bedroom and shut the door.

    Thank God for that! Jenna hurried downstairs, past the long, uncurtained staircase window. In the flickering light of the flames, lurid, unhealthy, she shivered.
Götterdämmerung
: her mouth shaped the word. The Twilight of the Gods, when the known world began to crumble.

    A foolish thought! She snapped on all the lights and flooded the hall with comfortable, familiar electric illumination. Drawing her dressing-gown tightly about her, she went into the kitchen to put on the kettle. The Fire Brigade, they had promised her, would not be long.

Chapter 14

Marjory Fleming woke just before seven, unrefreshed after a restless night and troubled dreams. The room must have been too hot. Or something.

    She reached for her mobile. Bill was probably out by this time and the kids were always dead to the world at this hour, but at least she could leave a message.

    Her heart gave a little skip of pleasure as she heard his voice. ‘Oh, hello, love. Didn’t think I’d manage to catch you. Sorry not to phone last night – I got tied up until it was too late.’

    ‘No, it’s all right. I knew that was what must have happened.’

    His voice sounded flat and tired and she was immediately alarmed. ‘Bill? Are you all right? The children—?’

    ‘No, no, we’re fine. But look – sorry to have to tell you on the phone, but there was a bit of a problem with your father yesterday. He’d a bad turn – got violent, started lashing out—’

    ‘Oh no! Oh poor, poor Mum!’

    ‘Yes, poor Janet. That’s the worst of it, really. He hit her and she fell. No broken bones, just a mild concussion, so don’t get upset. One of her neighbours – James Brodie, you know? – he heard the noise and went round and raised the alarm, and the services were brilliant. I took her to hospital in Dumfries and they’re keeping her for observation overnight, but she’s going to be fine.’

    ‘Why didn’t you phone me, Bill?’ Marjory was almost in tears. ‘I wasn’t doing anything that couldn’t be interrupted.’

    ‘What would have been the point? I was quite glad you didn’t phone, quite honestly, because I’d have had to tell you about it when you couldn’t have got back anyway, and there was nothing you could do except have a wretched night worrying about it. Janet would have been furious with me.’

    ‘I’d still have liked to know,’ she protested stubbornly. ‘And – Dad?’

    Bill sighed. ‘They’ve taken him for psychiatric assessment, to try to see if they can get him stabilized. But of course he can’t go back home. Janet mustn’t be left alone with him again.’

    ‘Of course not. Even she must see that now. But I still feel I should have been there. Or known what was happening, at least.’

    ‘It wouldn’t have made any difference, Marjory. You were just doing your job.’

    Having guilt added to shock and dismay didn’t help. ‘I’ll get to the hospital the minute I can. We’ll try and catch an earlier train and I’ll go in on my way back. They can send a car to take Tam back from there.’

    ‘She’ll want to see you, but don’t worry about anything here. We’re managing fine. And you’ll have quite a bit to do today. I heard on the radio the man’s been charged.’

    ‘With murder?’ Her spirits rose. If he’d been charged, he must have confessed. They wouldn’t have had time for lab results on the tarpaulin. Then she frowned, as Bill went on, ‘Yes, that’s right. Didn’t you know about it?’

    She certainly should have known. Was this another Allan/Kingsley machination? Marjory said slowly, ‘I haven’t been in touch since yesterday afternoon. But that’s seriously good news – means we won’t be under the cosh today and other people can handle it.’

    She heard him yawn at the other end of the phone. ‘Oh, Bill! What time did you get to bed?’

    ‘Don’t remind me! About two, I suppose. I didn’t get up till gone six, though.’

    ‘That’s only four hours, and you’re a man that needs his sleep. Tell Fin you’re having the day off.’

    ‘Well, the afternoon, maybe. He’s a good man, Fin. When I went out earlier he was heading off to do the rounds on the hill. He’s got a new dog – dead ringer for his old Moss, so he’ll be happier now.’

    ‘That’s good. See you later. I’ll phone when I know what’s happening.’

    Marjory sat down heavily on the edge of the bed and put her head in her hands. How sad, how awful it all was! And she hadn’t really done anything wrong, of course she hadn’t, except forget to make a phone call, but somehow she still felt miserably guilty about the whole thing.

By morning the fire had been out for some time, but a pall of acrid smoke hung in the damp air. The blackened timbers were still smoking and the ashes, though sodden, were still too hot even to rake through for the remains of the poor dog.

    The fire chief was sympathetic but firm. ‘Let the air in, and it could all flare up. Sorry about your lassie’s pet, but you can tell her the smoke would have got it first. It’s most likely true.’

    ‘Yes.’ Jenna looked anxiously over her shoulder, watching for her daughter coming down. She couldn’t even guess how Mirren would react, but she would take it hard.

    A little crowd of neighbours had gathered to make the usual expressions of sympathy, while satisfying their curiosity and assessing the threat to their own properties.

    ‘It’s just
awf’ly
worrying!’ one lady with exquisitely modulated Glasgow vowels exclaimed. ‘None of us are safe in our beds, Jenna! And what, might one ask, are the police doing about it?’

    As if in answer to her rhetorical question, a police car appeared, nosing round the corner on to the narrow road around the bay, and at the same moment, Jenna realized that her daughter had appeared at the front door of the house. She was staring at the smoking ruins expressionlessly.

    ‘Excuse me.’ Jenna broke off the conversation to hurry across to her daughter and put her arm round her narrow shoulders to sweep her inside. ‘Mirren, you’re going to have to be very brave. The shed went on fire last night when we were asleep and I’m afraid poor Moss can’t have stood a chance. The firemen say he wouldn’t have felt anything, because the smoke would have reached him first – it would have been very quick.’

    She was babbling as she took the child into the kitchen, and persuaded her to sit down. ‘I know how upset you’ll be, and I’m really, really sorry. I wish there was something we could have done  . . .’

    She had been expecting an explosion of rage, floods of tears, or – well, something. Mirren’s calm was unnatural, unnerving.

    ‘Oh, poor Moss! That’s awful,’ she said at last, but it was almost as if the words didn’t mean anything.

    She must be in shock. Jenna didn’t know what to do. ‘Well – I’ll put the kettle on. Perhaps you should have some hot, sweet tea?’

    Mirren made a face. ‘Yeuch!’

    ‘I’ll put the kettle on anyway. The firemen might like some. They’ve had a long night.’ And about five cups of tea as well, as witnessed by the dirty mugs on the draining board, but at least it gave Jenna something to do. ‘Do you – do you want breakfast?’

    ‘I’ll get some Shreddies.’ Mirren went to fetch a packet from the cupboard, then assembled a bowl, a spoon and a bottle of milk and sat down to eat composedly.

    Her mother watched her helplessly. If she was in a state of denial like this, there was going to be a backlash later, and Jenna had no idea what form it would take, or how she would cope when it came.

    ‘There’s a policeman coming to the door, look.’ Mirren gestured with her spoon to a figure in uniform passing the window on his way to the front door.

    ‘Oh – right. I’ll go and let him in.’

    Jenna recognized him; he was from the police station in Newton Stewart and he’d come to see her yesterday about the graffiti.

    ‘Come in, Sergeant Christie. I’ve got the kettle on – would you like a cup of tea?’

    ‘No thanks, Mrs Murdoch. Too much to do today.’ He was a neat, sharp-featured man with a small moustache and a permanent air of busyness about him. He followed her through to the kitchen. ‘Nasty, this. A dog killed too, I understand.’

    Jenna tried glancing meaningfully from him to her daughter, shaking her head, but he ploughed on. ‘Sick sort of person who’d do that to a defenceless animal, in my opinion.’

    She hardly dared look at Mirren, but she seemed not to have heard. Christie took a seat at the table, still in full flow.

    ‘Anyway, I think we know where to look for our villain, don’t we? Had him in yesterday to have a wee word about your problem, and there he was still with the smear of red paint you mentioned on the side of his hand!

    ‘We charged him and he was released on bail yesterday afternoon, so our gallus fellow comes back here for his revenge – they’ve cheek enough for anything, these neds. But of course they’re not very bright. Sometimes you wonder how they walk about without bumping into things. Or drive, in McLeish’s case – not a happy thought, is it, him in charge of a juggernaut!’

    He chortled, and Jenna smiled feebly.

    ‘Now,’ he went on, ‘did you see anything suspicious last night?’

    ‘Not a thing, I’m afraid. I was very tired and I went to bed early. Something woke me – a noise, or the smell of smoke, I think – but the shed was well ablaze by then.’

    Christie had taken out a notebook and was scribbling down her answer. ‘And what about Mr Murdoch?’

    ‘My husband – wasn’t here last night.’

    ‘Away, is he?’

    ‘That’s – that’s right. Away. Just at the moment.’ Jenna was aware of her daughter’s eyes on her. ‘He’ll be back shortly.’

    ‘Fine. And you, dear?’ Christie was just turning to Mirren when there was a tap on the kitchen door and a young constable put his head round.

    ‘Sorry to interrupt, sir, but I’ve someone here who says she saw something.’

    ‘Good, excellent! Wheel her in.’ He winked at Jenna. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere!’