Truth Lies Waiting (Davy Johnson Series Book 1) (30 page)

Dad rubs the back
of his neck with his hand, his fingers working at the base of his skull as
though searching for the erase button. When he speaks next his voice is choked,
‘I’d gone tae the bathroom, too much bloody beer in those days, that was my
problem. Only on the way back tae the bedroom I hear shouting and realise
Sonia’s fella must’ve come home and walked in on her getting dressed. He was
supposed to be on a course till later that evening but one of the instructors
had gone home ill so they’d finished earlier than expected. He thought he’d
come home and surprise her. Well, he did that alright. Found her scrabbling
about trying tae get into her clothes…well, ye’d hardly need tae be a genius.’

Dad’s
shoulders sag as he talks and I wish I didn’t have to put him through this but
there’s no other way. I try to encourage him with a nod.

‘He
went mental,’ Dad continues, ‘calling her every name under the sun and she gave
as good as she got at first, in fact I think yelling back at him was her way of
providing a distraction so I could slip away with you, but I wasn’t about tae
leave her tae take the flack on her own. Part of me was glad it was out in the
open, gave us a chance to make a life together – that’s all either of us
wanted. All this was going through my mind when the shouts turned to screams
and I ran into the bedroom prepared to have the shit kicked out of me, only he
didn’t budge.’

Dad
looks up at me as though he still can’t believe it after all this time, ‘The
bastard held his ground, standing over her with his hands around her throat.’
He holds his hands out at arm’s length, as though I need a masterclass in
strangulation.

‘He
turned to look at me, as though wanting to gauge my reaction as he squeezed
tighter and tighter.’

‘I
ran up the stairs the same time ye ran out of the bathroom.’ I add, ‘I saw ye
on the landing.’ Dad confirms this memory with a nod.

‘I
went into Sonia’s bedroom the same time as you.’

‘Aye.’
Dad agrees, ‘Ye frightened the fuck out of him, right enough. The look on his
face, it was like he’d seen a ghost. He let go of her then but she was already
dead.’

‘I
thought she was sleeping.’ I tell him.

Dad’s
eyes cloud over as though shielding him from the image. ‘That was no bad thing.
I didn’t want ye to realise what had happened to her.’ He shakes his head as
though he still can’t believe it.

‘I
thought I was seeing things,’ He says quietly, ‘her old man was a cop...there
was no way he would have killed his girlfriend like that…but the truth was
lying on the bed in front of us.’

An
image of Jude fighting for her life looms into view and I have to blink it away.

‘What
did ye do?’ I ask him.

Dad
stops rubbing at his neck and jerks his head up angrily. ‘I wanted to fuckin’
kill him!’ Tears mingled with snot run freely down his face. He resembles a
rabid dog, saliva flying from the corners of his mouth.

‘But
what did ye do?’ I press.

‘He
was staring at ye!’ Dad spits, ‘You were still in the doorway looking at Sonia.
I was beside ye. You looked up at me as though I’d know what to do but I knew
fuck all.’

‘Ye
were crying.’

‘Aye,’
he says angrily, dabbing at his face with his sleeve, ‘and a fat lot of good it
did her. Ye held my hand, do ye remember that?’ I start to shake my head but
then I remember him slumped in the doorway, broken; I’d wanted to make him feel
better.

‘But
even then I could see he was working something out.’ Dad recalls, ‘Mebbe he
already knew he was going to pin it on me, only he can answer that, but he was
staring at ye like you were the fly in the ointment, like he would crush ye if
he got hold o’ ye.’

A
shiver runs across my shoulder blades. ‘Ye told me to run.’ I say quietly.

Dad
nods. ‘I’d just seen what he was capable of and here was a bairn able to point
the finger right at him.’

‘I
ran downstairs but I couldn’t open the front door.’

‘He’d
locked it when he came back.’

‘I
panicked, ran into the front room.’

‘I
yelled at ye to hide.’ He adds, ‘There was nowhere but that bloody cupboard and
you wouldn’t go in.’

‘Because
of last time.’ I remind him.

‘I
know….but this was different, Son, I was trying tae protect ye.’

‘You
were swearing and shouting and I was scared. Ye pushed me in and closed the
door.’

Dad
sighs. ‘I stood in front of it and blocked the door with my body. Told him he’d
have tae get through me if he wanted tae get tae you. We were taking pelts out
of each other, but he knew how tae come out of it smelling o’ roses. We heard
sirens as the police cars pulled up outside – turns out a neighbour had dialled
999 when they heard Sonia screaming. He turns to me and tells me that if I
don’t take the blame he’ll come after you and kill you. I went mad then,
kicking the living daylights out of him just as the police break down the door.
They take one look at the both of us and who are they going to believe?’

Dad’s
looking at me but I can’t meet his eye. ‘And I crawl out of the cupboard too
traumatised to go near ye which backs up MacIntyre’s story that you’ve lost the
plot.’

Dad
places a hand on my arm. ‘Don’t beat yersel’ up about it Davy, they were always
going to look after their own, any other version of events would never have got
a look in.’

‘Even
so.’

‘If
ye’d said anything different you’d o’ been dead by now. I made a point of
confessing early on so ye didn’t need to give evidence. At least that way I
knew you’d be safe.’

‘How
could ye be sure he wasn’t going to kill me anyway?’

Dad
looks into the distance as though he can see the events of that day playing out
in front of him. ‘He came to see me in the cells. I was to go in front of the
Fiscal the next morning. Mebbe he was panicking about whether I’d give him up
or not but he gave me his word he wouldn’t touch ye as long as I took the
blame.

‘He
told me ye were being treated up at the Sick Kids Hospital and you’d clammed
up, wouldn’t talk to any of the doctors. He reckoned as long as I stuck to his
story no one would press ye for any details…..and he was right.’

‘Then
what happened?’

Dad
shrugs. ‘I went up before the Fiscal the next morning, pled guilty. The fiscal
wanted a psychiatric report completing, next minute I’m carted off here.’

‘As
simple as that?’

‘I
was beside myself, I didnae need tae play-act at being demented.’

‘And
Mum?’

‘She
came to see me. Just the one time. I’d been here a few days and she brought me
some stuff in, clothes, toiletries, I can’t really remember, my head wasn’t in
a good place, I didn’t know what day of the week it was let alone anything
else. She told me the doctors had recommended you go away for a while, only she
was worried about how you’d be once you came back. We agreed it would be for
the best to make a clean break of it, that way any chance of you seeing me and
remembering anything from that day would be limited. Besides, she was angry as
fuck with me so it suited her not to have to see me again.’

‘Does
Mum know?’ I ask him. ‘That it was MacIntyre?’

Dad
looks shocked. ‘Not a chance,’ he says, ‘It’s too big to trust someone with.’

‘But
what about all the tests you’ve had? The psych-’

‘-The
psychiatric reports, mental health evaluations, group counselling and talking
therapy…?’ he cuts in.

‘-aye,’
I nod, ‘all that, are ye saying it wasn’t needed, that ye faked it to stay here
rather than go to prison?’

I
hate the thought of him being mentally ill, that even if this all comes out
into the open nothing will change for him. He seems to read my mind.

‘I
loved her Davy,’ he says simply, ‘and that bastard killed her right in front of
me. How will I ever recover from that?’

‘And
what about MacIntyre?’

‘He
returned to work after compassionate leave. Never seen or heard from him
since.’

‘Ye
took the blame to save me.’

‘You’re
ma boy, what else could I do? Anyway, look at ye now,’ he says proudly, ‘you’re
like a chip of the old block, right enough.’

And
that’s when it starts to make sense. MacIntyre must have been on pins when I
was growing up, wondering whether I would suddenly remember the events
surrounding Sonia’s murder, then as time passed he grew in confidence, though
just to be sure he’d rub me up the wrong way every so often to see how I’d
react. That day when he caught me watching him through the café window he must
have thought I’d remembered something; he looked terrified.

Like
he’d seen a ghost.

A
ghost who could make his world come crashing around him.

No
wonder he wanted to take me out of the picture, and framing me for murder – the
first murder so similar to the one Dad had been convicted for years before –
would have got me out of his hair for good.

I
start to laugh. ‘Dad, this is brilliant don’t ye see?’

He
looks at me as though I’m the one that lives here rather than him.

‘No.’
He answers, none the wiser.

‘MacIntyre
doesn’t have anything over you now, however it pans out between me and him
nothing changes the fact you are innocent. With a good lawyer we should be able
to go back to the Fiscal for an acquittal.’

Dad
frowns. ‘On what evidence?’ he asks. Christ, now he is definitely sounding like
the sane one.

‘Mine
of course!’ I tell him.

‘Ah,’
he soothes, ‘ye mean the serial killer on the run? Now Son, I don’t want tae
piss on your bonfire right enough but how reliable does that make ye seem?’

He
has a point. Again. My shoulders slump in defeat.

‘We
can’t do nothing!’ I say impatiently.

‘Mebbe
not,’ he says calmly, ‘but ye need to clear ye own name first before ye can try
helping me.’ He sees the disappointment in my face, ‘Not as if I’m going
anywhere.’

‘Fine!
Fine!’ I mutter impatiently. I know what Dad’s saying makes sense but it feels
like an anti-climax. I mean, I knew we weren’t going to break him out of the
clinic there and then but I kind of expected more anger, more fire from him. I
suppose that’s what a lifetime on meds does for you.

‘It’s
OK, Dad,’ I tell him, getting to my feet, ‘I know people who can help us.’ I
push Marcus’s anguished face to the back of my mind, promising myself that I’ll
make it up to him once I’ve cleared my name. I wave at a couple of nurses
chatting around the nurses’ station, signalling that I need to leave. The last
few days have passed in a tragic haze of craziness that I couldn’t have made up
if I’d tried; to top it all I meet my Dad, who very probably saved my life when
I was a child.

For
the first time, in Christ, like
ages
, I feel that I’m getting some
control back in my life.

A
nurse comes in to take Dad back to his room, he waves away her offer of
assistance and I tell myself it’s because already he feels stronger. Maybe the
tide is turning for both of us. At the doorway he turns and for a moment the
fog has lifted. He beams his best smile yet at me.

‘Go
easy, Son.’ He says.

Outside
the air is cool and I make a roll up while I’m waiting for Ken. I walk down the
driveway towards the main road which leads into the city. There’s a bus stop
nearby; a crowd of schoolboys gather, hitting each other with rucksacks and
giving the younger ones dead-arms. I never really had school mates and those I
was on friendly terms with weren’t allowed back to mine. Jesus, was it any
wonder?

I
try to imagine what it’s been like for Dad, cooped up in an institution when
he’s done nothing wrong. It’s hard not to look at him and see my own future
lurching in the same direction. Even the thought of it makes me shudder inside.
I have to get Dad out of there, but he’s right; to secure his freedom I have to
clear my own name first.

The
boys at the bus stop are giving each other wedgies; they push by other
passengers to climb onto the bus before heading upstairs to show their arses at
passers-by. The decibel level on the street plummets now they’ve gone and I
wish more than anything I could jump on the bus too and swap places with them.

If
only my life was that simple.

My
phone rings. Paul’s name flashes up on the display.

‘Davy,
where are you?’

‘Been
to see my Dad at the clinic,’ I tell him, ‘long story,’

There’s
a muffled sound as though a hand has been placed over Paul’s mouthpiece, I can
hear his voice but not what he’s saying. ‘Paul?’ I say into the phone. ‘What’s
going on?’ Seconds later he is back.

‘Never
mind that,’ there’s an urgent tone in his voice which sets me on alert. ‘it’s
MacIntyre.’

My
colon twitches. I wait, moving towards the Perspex bus shelter so I have
something to lean on to; already my legs feel weak. My free hand automatically
grips the plastic seat.

‘Complaints
were ready to call MacIntyre in regarding Daz’s allegation only his federation
rep tipped him off first. Seems they joined the force at the same time,
attended Tulliallan together.’

‘So?’

The
anguish in Paul’s voice is unmistakable. ‘He’s gone missing, Davy.’

‘How
the fu-?’

‘He’s
entitled to representation,’ Paul says simply, ‘and the investigating officer
is obliged to tell the federation rep why Complaints want to speak to him so
they haven’t done anything wrong.’

‘Other
than give a killer a head start now we’re closing in on him.’ I say angrily.
Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself. Daz was moved to a safe house, an old pig
farm on the outskirts of East Lothian yesterday afternoon, with Coll Mahago
providing round the clock muscle.

My
mind is racing. ‘What if…..’