The Darkest Goodbye (William Lorimer) (18 page)

And there was nobody going to stand in his way, least of all Pete Wilding’s doe-eyed sister.

C
orrielinn was in darkness, the house shut up for the night, curtains closed against the rising wind that threatened to rip the leaves from the trees in this first autumn storm. Inside, the two women slumbered, Nancy tucked under her duvet, hands folded beneath one cheek, Sarah curled foetus-like in her own bed, her long fair hair flowing over the pillows.

A rattle sounded at the landing window, the wind shaking the old frame. A whine as the wind gathered strength, filtering through spaces under doors, down the ancient chimney pots. And still the women slept on, both weary after their day’s work, deep, deep down in some unconscious realm where even dreams could not touch them.

The crash and thump made Sarah sit up with a start.

What the hell
…
?
 

Then the sound of tinkling glass had her running barefoot from the room out to the corridor.

A jagged dark space was all that remained of the waterfall, fragments of stained-glass tumbled on to the carpet below. Sarah stood, mouth open in shock as she saw the huge stone lying there, paper tied around with some sort of twine.

Quickly, she darted to the adjacent window and pulled back the curtains.

But there was nobody to be seen. No figure hurrying away. No sound of a car’s engine departing on the road outside. Just the wind howling like a banshee, the leaves blown up high against the yellow lamplight.

Sarah knelt beside the rock that had been thrown through the stained-glass panel. Hands shaking, she slipped off the string from the missile and pulled the paper away.

She let the message fall, blood draining from her face. They’d come back, that fearful scar-faced man with his crony. And now they meant to do her real harm.

‘Sarah? What…? Oh no, oh no, what’s happened? Was it the wind…? Oh…!’

Nancy Livingstone stood, hands on her cheeks at the sight of the damaged window. ‘Who would do such a thing?’ she gasped, kneeling down, pushing at the fragments of splintered glass on the floor then turning to gape at the jagged hole in the window. ‘My beautiful window! Oh, Eric…!’

Tears spilled down Sarah’s cheeks as she saw the distraught look on Nancy Livingstone’s face.

‘I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,’ she whimpered.

‘It’s not your fault, dear,’ Nancy soothed, taking the younger woman’s cold hands in her own.

Sarah pulled away from her grasp. ‘Oh, but it is,’ she cried. ‘It’s all my fault, Nancy!’

‘
You
didn’t…?’ She looked from Sarah to the mess on the floor, a puzzled frown on her face.

Sarah shook her head. ‘Of course not.’ She bit her lip then whispered, ‘But I think I know who did.’

If she had been impressed by the woman’s kindness, Sarah Wilding was now somewhat in awe of the way she dealt with this crisis. Dressing hurriedly, Nancy went out to the garden shed to find tools and pieces of old hardboard, offcuts from a job that her late husband had carried out years before, she claimed. Instructing Sarah to find a dustpan and brush, Nancy busied herself in making a temporary covering across the window, the wood concealing not just the hole where the stone had broken the stained glass but the entire picture.

‘Can it be fixed?’ Sarah enquired hesitantly, but Nancy had shaken her head, not looking at the girl sweeping up the broken glass.

‘Doubt it. Need to see what the insurance company thinks. Now,’ she declared briskly, once Sarah had filled an empty cardboard box with the glass. ‘I think we both need a cup of tea.’ She shot Sarah a quizzical look, head to one side. ‘And you can begin to explain who you think did this horrible thing.’

For once Sarah would have been happier back in her silent cell at Cornton Vale and not sitting opposite this woman in her bright kitchen, the Portmeirion teapot sitting between them on the table. Yet, when she dared look up at Nancy it wasn’t to see a pair of accusing eyes staring at her but rather a tired-looking woman regarding her with sympathy.

‘What’s it all about, Sarah? Are you in some kind of trouble?’ she asked gently.

That quiet voice full of concern was too much.

Sarah covered her face and broke down in sobs, the sense of grief and loss overwhelming her so that she simply could not speak.

Then she was in Nancy’s arms, the woman patting her back as if she were a child, hushing her, telling her that everything would be fine, everything
was
fine…

Somehow they ended up side by side on the old two-seater settee, Nancy pulling a fleece rug over them both, the older woman cuddling the distraught girl as she howled in despair.

‘I killed my brother,’ Sarah gasped as the sobs subsided. ‘They knew that. They knew what I’d done…’

‘Sarah, listen to me,’ Nancy said firmly. ‘You are guilty of nobody’s death. Pete took an overdose. You know that. The courts know that. Goodness, Catherine Reid knows that! So why do you feel guilty about his death?’

‘It was me who got the drugs for him,’ Sarah mumbled into the edge of the blanket. ‘He told me they’d kill him if I didn’t.’

‘Who? Who told him that?’

Sarah shrugged then began shivering. ‘I don’t know. Maybe there
were
no drug dealers threatening Pete. Maybe he made that up to get me to steal the morphine from the hospital.’

She uttered a huge sigh then Nancy felt her trembling beneath the fleecy blanket.

‘I don’t know now.’

‘But you blame yourself.’

She nodded.

‘Listen to me, Sarah. I’ve read the court transcript of your trial. Your brother was a serious addict. Your defence lawyer said at the time that if it hadn’t been you who got him the drugs then it would have been someone else. Pete
wanted
that stuff. Wanted it badly and he didn’t care if it put his sister into any danger. Did he?’

Sarah shook her head, eyes cast down.

‘You were sentenced for theft, not for the death of your brother,’ Nancy continued.

‘
They
blame me,’ Sarah whispered. ‘Mum and Dad…’

‘… And you blame yourself,’ Nancy finished.

Sarah nodded silently.

‘Everyone is guilty of something,’ Nancy whispered. ‘And you’ve paid for making a wrong choice, haven’t you?’

There was no reply.

‘Well, haven’t you?’ Nancy insisted. ‘In the eyes of society you have served your sentence. It’s over. Now you have to come back to show that same society that you can live a good and fulfilling life, just as you have been doing since you started at Abbey. Hm?’

Sarah sat up and turned her tear-filled eyes to the woman who was looking at her with such loving kindness.

‘But that’s not all I’ve done, Nancy,’ she whispered. ‘And I still need to explain who threw that rock and broke your beautiful window.’

It was later, much later, after a second pot of tea and some buttered toast, that Nancy Livingstone stood on the landing, looking with sadness at the hardboard obscuring the damaged window. Sarah was asleep at last, the girl’s soft breathing letting Nancy leave her bedside and slip into the hallway. She moved towards the other window and peeped out, hands clasped together.

Dawn was showing, a pale bright light above a sooty horizon. The night would soon be over. And, whatever fears these men had instilled into that young woman’s heart, she wanted to assure her that sharp-edged knives and threats of violence were no match for the powers that held Nancy Livingstone’s world together.

D
etective Superintendent Lorimer parked his car in front of the double garage and looked up. It was a fine, stone house and, as his eyes carried on taking in details like the crow-stepped gabling, Lorimer was curious about its provenance. Old habits die hard, he chuckled to himself as he swung his long legs out of the car. His art history training had never really left him.

Mrs Livingstone had called him on his direct number, asking that he come to her house. An attempted break-in, was that what she had said? At any rate there had been something about a smashed window during the night. And, no, she hadn’t called the local police station.

Looking up, Lorimer could see pale hardboard covering a long space where the window had been. Narrowing his eyes and shading them against the rays of the sun, he noticed bright bits of colour reflected within the window frame. Not an ordinary window, then, but something much more precious, he thought, striding to the door and ringing the bell.

To the detective’s surprise it was not Nancy Livingstone who answered the door but Sarah Wilding, the nurse who had been so upset at David Imrie’s death.

‘Hello. Didn’t expect to see you here,’ Lorimer said, stepping forward as the nurse ushered him inside.

‘I’m staying here at the moment,’ Sarah explained. ‘My last digs weren’t up to much and Nancy wanted a lodger.’

She avoided eye contact with him, Lorimer noticed, as the blonde girl scampered off upstairs, calling on the lady of the house and leaving him standing alone in the hallway.

A quick look around him sufficed to let the detective see he was in a well cared for home. The polished side table with its huge bouquet of chrysanthemums, the richly patterned carpet (a tree of life design, he thought) and a glimpse of an original oil painting along the nearest corridor all spoke of a comfortable lifestyle. He took a couple of steps closer to the painting, its style tugging at his curiosity. Yes, unmistakable once you saw it; the turquoise waters and flying clouds above a dark brooding land mass. A Tom Shanks, unless he was very much mistaken.

‘Detective Superintendent.’

Lorimer whirled round as Nancy Livingstone came up to him, her footfall so silent that he had not heard her arrival.

‘Mrs Livingstone!’

‘Can we go into the lounge, perhaps?’ she began. ‘Or would you like to see the damage upstairs first?’

Lorimer followed her glance. ‘Upstairs, I think,’ he agreed and waved her to proceed before him. ‘You said it happened about four o’ clock this morning?’

‘That’s right,’ Nancy agreed. ‘Sarah sleeps over there.’ She motioned to the nearest door along the corridor. ‘She heard it first.’

‘Have you any idea who would do something like this?’ he asked, as they stood together on the landing, looking at the damaged window. ‘Have there been any other instances of vandalism in the neighbourhood? Friday nights can be notorious for things like that.’

‘No.’ Nancy shook her head. ‘I think this is an isolated incident.’ She looked at the detective superintendent and nodded towards the stairs. ‘Shall we go down now? There are things I would like to discuss with you.’

Lorimer frowned as he followed her back downstairs. She was being very calm about this. No hysterics, no wringing of hands or voicing any recriminations about the perpetrators of this act of vandalism. And all his senses were on alert to find out why.

‘You met Sarah at the door,’ Nancy said, waving a hand towards one of the pale cream settees that sat at an angle to one another in the spacious lounge. Lorimer resisted the temptation to stare at the walls, where several decent-sized paintings were on display.

‘Yes, she said she was staying here. You take in lodgers?’

Nancy managed a thin smile. ‘No, not really. But Sarah needed a better place to stay and…’ She shrugged. ‘It’s a big house for one person to live in, I suppose. Detective Superintendent, can I come straight to the point?’ She sat forward a little, making sure that he was paying close attention. ‘I think Sarah Wilding is in danger,’ she said quietly. ‘But I need to have an assurance from you that what I am about to tell you will not have her put back in prison. She’s had enough sorrow in her young life and I think she is on the path to a better way now.’

Back
in prison? What on earth was going on here? Lorimer shifted uncomfortably. He was unused to being stared at so directly and yet there was no malice in the woman’s look, more a determination to make him see things her way.

‘If this is a police matter —’ he began.

‘It’s also a personal matter,’ Nancy broke in. ‘I called you because I wanted your help, not to make an official report. Sarah was released just a few weeks ago and she has been doing really well.’

‘I see.’ Lorimer leaned back and crossed his legs, waiting for her to continue.

‘Sarah Wilding was imprisoned for stealing drugs from the hospital where she used to work,’ Nancy told him. ‘She did it to help her brother. An addict.’ She shook her head and pursed her lips in a gesture that was more despairing than condemning of human frailty and the tall policeman found himself liking her for it.

‘Well, he died of an overdose.’ Nancy sighed. ‘Waste of a young life.’

‘It’s a common story these days, I’m afraid,’ Lorimer agreed.

‘He told his sister that he needed the drugs to give to some dealers. Told her they would kill him if he didn’t.’

‘And she believed him?’

Nancy nodded. ‘I’m afraid so. And now she blames herself for his death.’

Lorimer thought back to the emotion that the blonde nurse had displayed at the nursing home. She was a bit fragile, wasn’t she? And maybe now he was finding out why.

‘What has this got to do with the damage upstairs?’ Lorimer asked, although his mind was already turning to possible scenarios of his own.

‘Sarah has been threatened by some men who claim to have known her brother,’ Nancy said carefully, dropping her gaze for a moment, something that Lorimer picked up on immediately. Was he being given an edited version of what had happened?

‘Go on.’

‘They visited this house only yesterday, shouting through the front door. But Sarah pretended not to hear them.’

‘And how did they know she lives here? Has she been in contact with them?’

Nancy sighed and shook her head. ‘This is the hard bit, Detective Superintendent. I’m afraid that these men have been coercing Sarah Wilding into something she didn’t want to do.’

There was silence between them, the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece sounding loud to Lorimer’s ears. He was a patient man but there was something going on that needed to be said and he wasn’t going to shift from this chair until that happened.

‘I think,’ he said at last, ‘I’d better talk to Sarah herself.’

Nancy stiffened where she sat and he could see from the way her eyes flitted to the door and back that the nursing home manager was anxious. Why? What was it about this young woman that had elicited such a measure of concern?

‘I don’t want to make any formal complaint against Sarah,’ Nancy said at last. ‘She may have made an error of judgement but I understand why she did.’

‘If your lodger is found to have committed a crime —’

‘She did something without permission,’ Nancy broke in. ‘Any part she may have played in a crime would have been quite unwitting,’ she insisted, her voice clear and calm, a smile even hovering upon her lips.

‘And if I decided that she had committed a crime…?’

‘I think there is a greater judge over us all, Superintendent, don’t you?’ Nancy said quietly. ‘One who will eventually decide who is the sinner and who has been sinned against.’

Lorimer stifled a sigh. She was one of those Holy Willies, then. And she’d taken an ex-con into her home to try to show her the way to salvation. Yet sitting opposite and regarding him gravely, Nancy Livingstone did not give Lorimer the impression that she was soft in the head, no matter how kind her heart might be. Rather, there was a no-nonsense air about her that he was inclined to respect.

‘It is possible that Sarah may have been involved in the death of David Imrie,’ Nancy began, then held up her hand as Lorimer was about to reply. ‘Hear me out, please.’

Lorimer took a deep breath and waited.

‘Sarah was abducted by some men who held her at knifepoint and forced her to promise that she would copy the names and details of our patients’ next of kin,’ Nancy explained. ‘I told you that she was in fear of her life and I meant it. These are very dangerous people, Superintendent. And I imagine that you would like to apprehend
them
rather than a frightened young woman,’ she added drily.

‘I still need to speak to Sarah. Hear the story from her,’ Lorimer sighed.

Nancy Livingstone stared at him then dropped her gaze and nodded. ‘I’ll go and fetch her,’ she agreed. ‘And then I think I’d better put the kettle on. Would you care for some tea or coffee?’

He was standing by the window when he heard the light footstep behind him. Turning, he saw the girl standing in the middle of the room, twisting her hands nervously together. Her eyes were red rimmed. Tears of contrition? Or had she been sobbing in fear of being returned to Cornton Vale again so soon after her release?

‘Sarah, come and sit down,’ he said gently, waving a hand at the long settee that faced the fireplace.

For a moment he thought that the girl might turn and flee from the room. She looked so young standing there in her stocking soles, no make-up on her pale face and hair tied back in a ponytail. He’d seen plenty of ex-cons in his time, tough women who would narrow their eyes when he looked at them, mendacious creatures, some of those whose lives were punctuated by spells inside HM prisons. But this girl looked different, almost as though her experience inside had left her untouched and still vulnerable. He could see why Nancy Livingstone had taken such a shine to her. Wasn’t she the perfect material for a religious type to get their claws into?

As soon as the thought came to him, Lorimer felt ashamed. That was not worthy of him. Everyone deserved a second chance, didn’t they? And he was all in favour of organisations like SHINE and SACRO that helped prisoners fit into the outside world.

‘What did Nancy tell you?’ Sarah whispered, sitting in the farthest corner of the settee from the tall detective.

‘I know a bit about your recent history,’ Lorimer admitted. ‘But I need to know more about what has been happening to you since you left Cornton Vale.’

The girl looked at him with wide, frightened eyes.

‘I want to help you if I can, Sarah,’ he continued gently. ‘But I can’t do that unless you are prepared to trust me.’

He smiled at her, softening the blue gaze that had crushed many hardened criminals.

‘I wouldn’t have hurt Mr Imrie,’ she whispered at last. ‘That’s the last thing I would’ve wanted. I didn’t know…’

‘It’s all right, Sarah. Just start from the beginning and tell me everything.’

Lorimer drove back into the city, his head full of tumbling thoughts. He had instructed the girl to hold on to the mobile in case they made contact with her again. There would be time to have it examined by their own technical people, see if they could trace any of the calls, but he reckoned that it was better kept in Sarah Wilding’s possession for the time being. By rights he should arrest the girl, but there had been no official complaint about her copying these patient files. Only Nancy Livingstone knew, the girl having broken down in tears, confessing her guilt. And the nursing home manager was not about to reveal this to her sister. Perhaps, he thought cynically, because Mrs Abbott would be less lenient with the former inmate.

Why had anyone wanted these patient files? And had this anything to do with Maggie’s cousin’s death? Was Sarah Wilding playing a dangerous game here? Okay, she’d been held at knifepoint (something that could not be proved in a court of law) and was in fear for her life. But she’d trusted Nancy Livingstone. And, though he was reluctant to admit it to himself, there was something about that woman that William Lorimer grudgingly admired. Not only did he feel she was telling him the truth, but he was certain that she only wanted the best for the girl. And, if he were to make this a part of his official inquiry, then Sarah Wilding might well find herself back in Cornton Vale.

‘Why?’ Sarah stood in the doorway of the kitchen, looking in.

Nancy turned from the sink where she had been cleaning vegetables to make some soup, a weekend task that, she told Sarah, gave her a lot of satisfaction.

‘Why what?’

‘Why do you want to protect me?’ Sarah came into the kitchen and sat down at the wooden table. ‘What do I mean to you? I mean, you hardly know me and yet…?’

‘Oh, Sarah.’ Nancy wiped her hands on a dishcloth and came to sit next to her. ‘I want you to have that second chance. Don’t you see? You’re so full of remorse for what happened with your brother. And if you don’t try to put all of that behind you, then you may be sucked right back into whatever it was Pete was involved in.’

‘Did that policeman say what he was going to do?’ the girl asked dully.

‘No. But if he
had
been going to make something of it, wouldn’t he have taken you down to the police station? Besides, nobody has made an official complaint against you.’

‘That’s because you haven’t told Mrs Abbott,’ Sarah said.

‘And until I need to do that, my sister will remain none the wiser about how these files got into the hands of those men!’

‘But why would you bother with someone like me?’ Sarah murmured, looking down at her hands.

‘Because you’re worth it?’ Nancy asked with a smile. ‘Can I tell you a story?’

Sarah tried to return the smile, lips trembling. ‘A once upon a time?’

‘If you like.’ She settled herself at the table and looked into Sarah’s eyes. ‘Once upon a time there was a shepherd who had a flock of sheep. A hundred of them, all ages and sizes, lambs as well as ewes and rams. Well, one day he saw that one of them was missing. A wee lamb.’