The Jump (11 page)

She ran. She had no idea where she was going, just wanted to get away, feel her feet pounding on the concrete, her body moving away from Inchcolm Terrace and Alison, from confrontation, away from Sam and Libby and the mess she was involved in.

She ran so she didn’t have to think, her body took over, she had to concentrate on breathing, the molecules going in and out of her mouth, her bloodstream, her pulse pumping energy from her heart through her stomach to her legs. She ran to feel the rhythm of it, settled into the thud, thud of her heels on the ground. She was wearing the wrong shoes, casual trainers, and the wrong clothes, clinging to her as she began to work up a sweat, but she didn’t care, she just kept on.

Gradually she began to be aware of where she was. She’d gone in the opposite direction from it all, up the back roads of the Ferry, east towards Dalmeny, vaguely aware of the A90 somewhere behind the trees on her right, sweeping towards Edinburgh. She turned left and found herself on a farm lane, views of Dalgety Bay across the Forth, her legs aching and her arms still thrusting away, as if she knew what she was doing, where she was going.

She turned at the end of the track, passed some cottages and realised where she was, heading back into the Ferry from the east side, close to Dalmeny railway station. Her breath was short, a wheeze in her chest. She headed towards the train station. She’d waited on that platform hundreds of times for trains into the city, always looking the other way, over the bridge. In the last six months whenever she’d stood there, she imagined jumping on to the tracks, not suicide, not that way at least. She imagined leaping on to the gravel between the rusty rails and sprinting in the direction of the bridge, it wasn’t far, she could make it easily. She wondered if she could run all the way over the rail bridge before a train came and crushed her, or before railway security managed to stop her. She imagined the bridge from Iain Banks’ book, an entire civilisation living inside the legs and arms of the structure. Everyone in the Ferry knew that book, Iain had lived over the water in North Queensferry, he was one of their own.

She didn’t stop at the station now but pounded on, pulled towards the shoreline by the gravity of the sea, the power of the water that had taken Logan, her home calling her as she leapt down the steep stairs below the rail bridge, through the thick trees, coming out on Shore Road at the east end of the village by the legs of the rail bridge.

Without looking she ran across the road to the bridge leg, where she stopped and placed her shaking hands against the stonework. Her breath heaved and her lungs ached, her legs trembled as she used the bridge for support. Three tourists walked past, sauntering into the village, staring at her. She wasn’t dressed like a jogger, so why was she out of breath? What was she running from?

As she stood there, that comforting rumble of the train overhead, click-clack of wheels on rails, the rattle of people going places a hundred feet above her head.

If she’d run on to the bridge like she imagined, the train would be bearing down on her now. She wouldn’t even be halfway across. Maybe she would’ve just lain down and let it crush her. Maybe she would’ve jumped over the side, like her son. Maybe she would’ve stood tall, a character in a superhero movie, and the train would explode on impact. She would walk away unharmed, to save the planet from annihilation.

Back home and the water was calling her as she stood in the kitchen gazing out the window. She had a note from Ben in her hand, he’d gone out flyering again, somehow convinced after their boat trip yesterday that something was up with the new bridge.

She jogged upstairs, stripped and got changed into her wetsuit, stretching the material and pulling her limbs into it. There was a little more room than before from the weight she’d lost, the rubber rippling and bunching at her stomach and thighs.

She went out the back door, not bothering to lock it, pulling the cap over her head, pushing stray strands of hair under the silicon. She didn’t stop to think, just dived in, the best way to acclimatise, the body used to the cold within seconds. She began stroking straight away, stroke and push, stroke and kick. She was already tired from the run but she had to feel empty, wanted to keep going until there was nothing left inside her. Swim until you can’t see land.

She concentrated on her breathing again, in out, in out, angling her head to the side, then face in the water, up to the side, down, pushing the slick Forth behind her, overwhelmed by the grey swells, the waves making her adjust her stroke, constantly monitoring her body, checking her strength, her muscles talking to her.

Before she knew it she was two hundred yards out. She pictured a huge ocean liner or ferry bearing down on her, the sharp edge of the bow splurging the water aside as it thundered over her, pummelling her body, whipping in the force of the undertow, ripping her to shreds in the wake of the engines. She imagined Logan falling from the bridge directly on top of her, the two of them spiralling downwards with the force of it, held in each other’s embrace, tumbling to the silt and sediment of the bottom, sucked into the mud, unable to break free, kissing each other one last time before they let the ocean into their lungs.

She stopped and treaded water, taking in her surroundings. It felt so free to be out here, unshackled from earth for a moment. But then she began to think about Sam and Libby, Ben and Logan, Jack and Alison, all of them leaking in through the cracks. She started swimming back to shore, breath shortening, limbs stretching, muscles screaming. She concentrated on staying alive and moving, always moving forward.

She was a hundred yards out from shore, arms and legs burning, a good burn. She had slowed down but that was fine, she was still going forward, pushing the past behind her, pushing the waves behind her, pushing her life behind her one stroke at a time.

She spotted Ben standing on shore, cup of coffee in one hand, towel in the other. She couldn’t make out his face yet, too far away, as she pummelled through the water, the surface splash salty on her lips, the taste of it like sweat and fish and freedom.

Then she was only twenty yards out, able to put her feet down and wade the rest of the way. She stumbled on the pebbles underfoot, her legs jelly from the exertion, and wiped her eyes. She saw now that Ben was frowning. He held out the towel and stepped to the side, his head nodding back to the house, where two uniformed police officers were sitting at the kitchen table drinking tea.

‘This is not a formal interview, Mrs Napier, we just want a little chat.’

Ellie looked around. This wasn’t an interview room, didn’t look anything like she’d seen on television crime dramas, they were just sitting in the corner of a regular open-plan office, computer and paperwork on the desk, spreadsheets and forms pinned to a noticeboard, a couple of framed awards mounted on the wall.

They were at the back of the police station, so the view out the window was of someone’s garage and an overgrown lawn. Round the front of the station were the Forth and her house, where Ben was waiting.

She’d told him not to come. The police wanted to talk to her about her visit to the McKennas’ house, and Jack’s attempted murder. They seemed happy to talk at her kitchen table but she wanted them out, wanted to distance the whole thing from what was left of her family. So she told Ben not to come to the station. He’d mentioned getting a solicitor but the female officer said there was no need, it was strictly informal. And anyway, Ellie thought, they didn’t have a solicitor. Who has a criminal lawyer in real life?

She’d gone upstairs, dried off, changed into her clothes and walked with them to the station. Now she was sitting in this ordinary office, facing the two cops. She didn’t recognise either of them, she’d thought she might, from Logan’s suicide, or just from around town. She was surprised about that, it couldn’t be much of a police force in such a small station.

The female officer was about the same age as her, maybe a little younger, auburn hair pulled into a ponytail, sleek, well conditioned. Her nails had been done recently, she took care of her appearance. Ellie saw a wedding ring and wondered if she had kids. The male officer was younger, just a kid really, mid-twenties, confident, sharp haircut, smelling of cologne, expensive, chunky watch on his wrist.

‘Ellie.’ It was the woman officer, a sympathetic note in her voice. Were they going to do good cop, bad cop, did police really do that?

‘My name is PC Macdonald, this is PC Wood. Do you know why you’re here?’

‘No.’

‘Alison McKenna contacted us,’ Macdonald said. ‘You know who I mean?’

Ellie nodded.

‘She said you’ve been round to see her.’ Macdonald had a notepad and pen at the ready. Ellie noticed she’d already written Ellie’s name and the date at the top of the page and underlined it. ‘Have you visited her home?’

Ellie nodded again.

‘Why?’

Ellie rolled her wedding ring round her finger. She felt something like tears beginning to well up inside her, felt her stomach lurch, bile rise in her throat.

‘I don’t know.’

‘You don’t know?’ This was the young guy, Wood, incredulous. He got a look from the woman. Ellie wondered about the power balance between these two. He would resent having a woman as his boss. They were the same rank but she was older, more experienced, in charge.

Ellie kept looking at her hands in her lap.

Macdonald stared at her. ‘Mrs McKenna says you made accusations about her husband, Police Sergeant Jack McKenna. Is that true?’

Ellie lifted her head and looked at the certificates on the wall.

‘Mrs Napier?’

Ellie shook her head, sniffed. ‘No, I never said anything about her husband.’

‘Do you know PS McKenna?’

‘No.’

‘Do you know Mrs McKenna?’

‘No.’

‘Then why go to her house?’ Macdonald flicked a page back in her notebook. ‘She says you’ve visited twice in the last two days, is that correct?’

‘Yes,’ Ellie said.

‘Why?’

‘I wanted to offer sympathy.’

‘Sympathy?’

Ellie rubbed at her palm with her thumb. ‘I know what it’s like to have trouble in the family.’

Macdonald cocked her head to the side. ‘Your son Logan.’

Ellie nodded.

‘But this is very different,’ Macdonald continued. ‘This was a violent assault, attempted murder. What’s it got to do with you?’

‘Nothing,’ Ellie said. ‘I just felt . . . I get confused. I’m on medication, you see. Since Logan.’

Wood leaned forward, he’d had enough. ‘Alison said you made accusations about her husband. A good cop.’

Ellie shook her head.

‘She also said you’d been in touch with her son, Sam. Is that true?’

Ellie shook her head again. ‘I made that up.’

‘Why would you do something like that?’

Ellie felt tears well up in her eyes. ‘I don’t know.’

‘You don’t know,’ Wood said. ‘This is ridiculous.’

‘Have you been in touch with Sam McKenna?’ Macdonald said, voice softer.

‘No.’ Ellie sniffled as she spoke. ‘I made it all up.’

‘Why?’

‘I saw in the news that he was missing,’ Ellie said, tears down her cheeks now. ‘I imagined what it must be like for him, alone out there somewhere, not wanting to go home.’

‘What do you know about the attack on Jack McKenna?’ Wood said.

Macdonald shot him a look.

‘Nothing,’ Ellie said.

‘Were you anywhere near Inchcolm Terrace two days ago?’

Ellie shook her head. She wondered about CCTV, Neighbourhood Watch, if there was evidence. She had been all over that place, if they could just find out. It was only a matter of time, surely, but the fact they were asking meant they didn’t have anything yet.

‘Can you account for your activities that day?’

Ellie thought. Closed her eyes, opened them, stared out the window at the weeds. ‘I went for a walk.’

‘A walk?’ Wood’s voice sounded like he’d just been personally insulted.

Ellie nodded.

‘Whereabouts?’

‘I don’t know exactly,’ Ellie said.

‘Do you go on walks often?’

‘All the time. It’s what I do now, walk for miles, go running, swimming. It’s how I cope without Logan. I walk all over the Ferry, beyond as well, out to Hopetoun House or Dalmeny, even to Crammond.’

‘You walk to Crammond?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Did you walk to Crammond on Monday?’

‘No.’

‘Then where?’

‘I don’t remember,’ Ellie said. ‘I go all over the place, I can’t remember specifics.’

‘Did anyone see you on this mysterious walk?’

‘Plenty of people,’ Ellie said. ‘But no one I know, I don’t think.’

‘Very handy.’

Macdonald butted in. ‘Look, I understand you’re dealing with a lot. But you can’t turn up at strangers’ doors, making accusations and getting them upset.’

‘I didn’t make any accusations.’

‘Mrs McKenna insists that you did,’ Wood snarled.

Ellie thought about how the police had found her. She’d given Alison a false name, but it wasn’t exactly hard. She’d mentioned Logan jumping off the bridge, that was in the local paper, she would’ve been named in that. Easy to find the address. What must they have thought when they realised she lived fifty yards along the road from the station? Nice easy job for the officers.

‘I’m sorry,’ Ellie said. ‘I shouldn’t have gone to see her. But I was confused, that’s all. I don’t know why I did it.’ Tears were really flowing now. Was she putting it on for them, or really crying? She wasn’t sure any more. It didn’t make any difference.

‘It’s OK,’ Macdonald said.

Ellie heard Wood snort derisively. She didn’t blame him. She pulled a tissue out of her pocket and dabbed at her cheeks, her nose. Sniffed loudly.

‘Can I go?’ she said.

Wood was shaking his head, but Macdonald had a soft look on her face.

Ellie thought about fingerprints. They were all over the house, but then she’d been there to talk to Alison, surely that was her cover. If anyone saw her the day Jack was stabbed, that was different. And if the police checked her phone records they would know about her and Sam. The phone was in her pocket now, hot against her thigh. She imagined it buzzing with a message from him.

‘You can go for now,’ Macdonald said. ‘But we might well be back in touch, depending on our enquiries.’

Wood leaned forward, trying his best to be intimidating. ‘And we’ll definitely be in touch if you go near the McKennas again. Got it?’

Ellie nodded. ‘I understand.’

She got up, her legs weak, and headed for the door, wondering where Sam was and when she could see him next.