I felt the cold iron rods as the tears rolled down my face. I had run as far as I could away from the class bully. I pressed my head against the school perimeter railing and watched the blurred images of people passing by. The other pupils surrounded me and sang: “Tubby flubby you’re just a big cry baby!”
One of the blurred images outside the school stopped, and said: “Listen son, I've noticed you getting bullied before why don’t you stand up to him, he’s smaller than you?”
I blinked to clear the tears from my eyes and looked at an old man who stared at me with understanding written across a wrinkled face. The intensity of his gaze appeared to reach down into my subconscious and pull up something dangerous.
I pushed the rods away and swung around to face Gary Tosh, who was smaller than me. I glared at the circling pupils, which made them stop chanting and strode toward Tosh with a new found bravado, but I didn’t know what I would do. I stared into his eyes and for an instant saw primal fear then I screamed as pain I had never felt before shot through my stomach: the bully had kicked me in the balls.
The chanting began again as I fell to the ground in a mass of tears and Tosh towered over me with a sinister grin painted on his face. “Help me… anybody,” I pleaded. I looked over to the perimeter railing, there was no one there. A hand thrust out and a voice said: “Give me your hand, and I will save you.”
My mobile ring tone brought me out of the reverie. I stared at my gloved hands covered in blood and below them the questioning face of Gary Tosh with the ducting tape I had stuck over his mouth.
I wiped my hands and answered the mobile. “Yeah, Devine?”
“Sir, it’s DS White here, we’ve got news on the Dewar case.”
I gaped in horror as blood trickled off the end of the phone, “Okay, I’ll see you at the Station.”
Throughout the meeting at Police Scotland Headquarters in Dundee I listened to Derek White and Susan Moran talk about the new evidence they had found out about some case. My mind, however, was watching Tosh make muffled pleas for his life after I had punched and kicked his useless body.
His wrists and ankles were bound; there was to be no escape!
“What have I done to deserve this!” screamed the pathetic drug user through the tape.
He didn’t remember me! This made me furious, and I raised him up and pushed him across the room. I then crouched down where he lay and looked into his drugged eyes and said: “Think playgrounds Gary, think a fat kid, think a kick in the balls.”
As I watched his eyes register something, I thought, am I locked in an endless karmic dance with this sad soul.
“Sir?” Moran asked.
I regained the present, and said: “Yes, that’s fine, go ahead.
I clambered up the tenement stairs in Arbroath which I had climbed hours before, and pulled on a pair of shoe covers. I then ducked under the police tape across the open-door frame after announcing myself as DCI Devine and showing my warrant card to the young, local copper standing outside the apartment.
“Ah, sir,” said Derek White as he drew near me.
“Jeez! What’s this Derek?” I asked gazing in disbelief at the dead body of Gary Tosh.
There was a large pool of dark- red blood, which was seeping into the carpet under a long slash across the side of his neck.
“The victim’s name is Gary Tosh–a known drug user.”
“Wasn’t drugs that did this,” I said as I moved the head, looking at the slash. I then stood up and watched the people in white suits dust and analyze.
The television in the corner of the room hissed with static. Someone must have slipped in here after I left, I thought.
A green protective suit entered and nodded.
“James,” I said, acknowledging Doctor Cochrane the Pathologist, “another druggie.”
“Yes well, this one came into contact with a rather large knife!”
I walked over to the window and stared down at the flashing lights on the police vans. He had put up no resistance as I raised him off the sofa. The bully I feared when I was a kid had no great body strength due to a life of self-abuse. I had exacted my revenge and left him beaten but alive. He would never have been able to identify me. Could it have been another druggie that entered and slashed his throat? I asked myself.
“Time of death? I reckon about Three AM.” Cochrane said.
“Okay, thanks James.”
I walked over to where DS White knelt beside the body. “What do you think Derek?”
He stood up and sighed. “Could be a drug dealer sir, but I’ve never seen this before,” he said pointing at the rope binding the limbs.
“There’s nasty buggers goin’ around; we’ve seen bad things where these dealers are after their money. Who found the body?”
“A neighbour wondered why the front door was open.”
“Okay Derek, shake up the area and round up the local dealers. Get Susan down from Dundee to give you a hand.
I drove past where the primary school I used to go to was–now a supermarket car park next to Arbroath Police Station. The streets were becoming slick with a drizzle which had drifted in off the North Sea. I headed back to Dundee as Metallica’s Enter Sandman filled the car.
I had a problem!
Chapter Two My mobile rang as I was reading and listening to Classic FM. I looked at the time - it was One AM.
“Sir, it's Derek here. A body's been found in Arbroath.”
“What? Another one!”
“This one’s swinging from a crossbar between goalposts in Victoria Park.”
“Yes, I know Victoria Park. I’m on my way.
As I sped down the dual carriageway between Dundee and Arbroath I thought, God! What have I started? I gazed at the red taillights in front and remembered earlier that night: The figure of a man leaving the Arbroath Boys Club and walking toward my car. I reached into the glove department and clutching a pair of gloves I pulled them on, then leaned over and opened the passenger door as Jimmy Forbes looked in.
“Can I help you mate?” he asked.
I showed him my warrant card: “Detective Chief Inspector Devine. I’d like a word with James Forbes.”
“What can I do for you?” He asked with a sigh.
“Get in.”
He looked around and sighed again then slid into the passenger’s seat, while I recalled the bastard threatening me as a young footballer, he would head-butt me if I tackled him.
“There’ve been reports of someone who fits your description following children about here.”
“Oh, come on I’m clean, I have done nothing like that for years!”
I parked my car behind the Command Unit which sat at the edge of the grass. I pulled on shoe covers and walked across the wet grass toward a group of dark figures as the pale, autumnal moon hung in the sky. Torch beams were searching the darkness. Some white suits had their beams pinned on something hanging from the goalposts. I made out the familiar shape of Derek White and headed toward him.
“Derek. What’s this now? Not druggies this time. Disgruntled football managers perhaps!”
“Sir! Yeah, Arbroath’s becoming Midsomer I reckon!”
Derek and I often softened the discovery of such atrocities with a little humour–it was our way of dealing with the job. The other officers and scientists just shook their heads, and either laughed or frowned.
As I gazed at the lifeless face of Forbes with his tongue hanging out of his twisted mouth, my mind was doing somersaults. How the hell could this have happened? I beat him up and left him where he threatened me all these years ago: near the 18-yard box on the first pitch in Victoria Park.
Derek turned his gaze from the hanging victim toward me. “He’s James Forbes and lives at 42
Seaton Road. A man walking his dog found him. The pathologist has just arrived. We’ll get more information when they take him down.”
I turned and looked at the dark outline of Whiting Ness, the rock mass that ended the park and started the sandstone cliffs on their northward journey. I inhaled the sea air and wondered what was going on. I wanted retribution, but not death for these guys! This was no murderous drug dealer.
On the way back home, I reassessed my desire to carry on with my revenge spree as David Bowie’s ‘Aladdin Sane’ nursed my ear drums. Somebody was watching me. Whoever it was had the killer instinct and considerable strength. Stringing up that body would take some doing unless there was more than one.
I parked my BMW on the drive outside my bungalow and then entered the darkened, empty house. My wife, June, died a year ago, and thoughts of the past now filled my leisure time.
My mobile rang as I searched the fridge for a beer.
“Yeah, Devine?”
“Sir its Derek. It seems as if Forbes was beaten and then hung.
“Okay, thanks Derek. Keep me informed.”
I pulled the ring on a can of export and sat down in the lounge. I switched on the television then took a long slug of beer. I watched the screen but my mind was back outside the Boys Club
“I’ll give you a lift home Jim,” I said as I turned on the ignition.
“It’s okay, I’ll walk.”
“No, I insist,” I said as the car sped away.
I drove out the darkened road that led along the deserted Victoria Park to the cliffs.
“Okay stop the car, I want out!” Forbes shouted.
“All right Jim,” I said as I pulled into the side next to the sea.
I placed my hand on his seat belt before he released it and tightened it around his neck. “Okay, Jim do you remember playing here against the Boys Club in the seventies?”
“What? You’re crazy!”
I punched him in the face. “Crazy! Come on, don’t you remember threatening young players?”
He struggled and tried to release the seat belt catch. “I’ll report you to somebody!”
I pulled the belt tighter. “Who are you going to report me to Jim?”
He tried to punch me, but I caught his fist and bent his wrist.
The house phone rang as I watched some late-night game show.
“Dad, I’m sorry to call so late, but I knew you’d still be awake.” Rachel, my daughter, said.
“Hey Baby! What’s up?
“I can’t stop thinking about mum, and I wanted to see if you were okay.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m all right I still drink myself to sleep, but I’m fine.”
“I remember the stories you used to read at night when I couldn’t sleep.”
“You’re not wanting me to dig out your old books, are you?”
“No, I wanted to hear your voice.”
“Any time baby. How are Dave and Jamie?
“They’re fine.”
“Okay, off to sleep with you.”
“Right, good night dad.”
“Night Rach.”
My mind flashed back to the car and Forbes. “You will tell nobody about this, because if you do I’ll put you inside for messing about with kids. D’you understand me you fucker!”
I released his fist, and he stared at me through the darkness. I then grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and pulled him round to face me. “You bullies don't know what you do to a young mind.
A lifetime of shame...”
“Oh, come on!”
I couldn’t look at the bastard so I stared through the windscreen: stared into the mocking darkness. I then turned back and punched Forbes and then thumped his head off the dashboard. He recoiled and then slumped forward and his head hung over the seat belt. I then got out and walked around to the passenger’s door and opened it then released the seat belt catch. Forbes lunged forward and his head hit the glove department. I pulled him out and closed the door with my foot. I dragged him across the grass and left him unconscious on the football pitch.
Chapter Three The Whitehall Theatre lies in what I suppose you would call Dundee University land, not on the campus, but on the fringe in an area of old factory buildings.
I parked in the car park at the rear of the building. “Well, here we are,” I said without enthusiasm.
“Oh, come on you old grump,” said Lesley, an acquaintance I had met when on a case involving an advertising company where she was a designer.
We were there to see John the Mystic a celebrated medium. Something Lesley liked, and I despised due to a psychic wasting enormous amounts of time on a case where a child was missing after a murder.
We sat in the dark at the back of the lower level and watched the guy channel spirits and then give guidance to living relatives. After pausing for a drink of water, he announced that there was a spirit of a well-built man, which had appeared in front of him–a man who had died of a heart attack. He then left the stage and ran up the side aisle toward us and I felt my pulse rate increase.
“Oh no,” I whispered to Lesley as the medium stood in front of us.
“The spirit wants to talk to you sir,” said the man shaking my hand.
A stage hand gave me a microphone as the guy ran back to the stage.
“What’s coming through is of fire and metal and a terrible thirst,” the psychic announced.
I thought of my father who had worked in a foundry in Arbroath. I didn’t like to admit it, but my old man died of a heart attack.
“The name John’s coming through and Margaret.”
I was feeling uncomfortable as these were my parents’ names. Lesley took my hand, and I felt better.
“The sea figures large here as I can sense a harbour and boats - also cliffs. Does this mean anything to you?”
Arbroath, I thought; so, I answered: “Yes.”
The medium wiped the sweat from his brow and continued. “You must stop what you’re doing son–these people were young when they did what they did. There’s a bad one pushing you…”
He then sat down and asked the audience to give him a moment. After a while he stood up and in a wavering voice said: “If the man would like a personal sitting after the show I have more information.”
Then the curtains closed, and the lights came up. Lesley looked at me and said: “Wow you must be glad we came now?”
“Let’s get a cup of tea,” I said rising out of my seat.
“Are you going to have a personal with him then?” Lesley asked as I handed her a polystyrene cup filled with milky tea.
“I don’t know. I have to admit the details he gave seem to point toward my late father.” I said as I wondered about how to get out of having to explain what I was doing to people that I had to stop.
The bell rang, and with relief I drank up and said: “Okay Lesley, let’s get back.”
After the show Lesley and I waited in the foyer where some tables surrounded by chairs had been set out. Another ten people were awaiting the appearance of John the Mystic. He showed up with a towel around his shoulders and a plastic water bottle and pointed to me.
“You first sir.”
Lesley and I sat down at a table and he said: “I don’t wish to offend, but the information is for you only sir.”
I looked at Lesley, “You don’t mind, do you?” I asked with some relief.
“No,” she said rising.
I took her hand and whispered “I’ll tell you about it later.”
“Okay, I’ll be straight with you sir,” said John the Mystic when we sat facing one another out of earshot of the others,
“Right you are,” I said.
“That was one of the strongest channels I have felt. The spirit that wanted to talk to you wanted to
give you a warning on stage, stop whatever you are doing. I would urge you, do what is asked.
Someone or something in the spirit world has a grievance toward you.
“Who could this be and am I safe?”
“There are many malevolent spirits my friend. I have now put a protective shield around you, but the best thing to do is heed what you’ve been told.
I dropped Lesley off and drove home with my mind in over-drive. I parked the car and entered the dark house and switched on the lights. An envelope lay on the mat which I thought was strange at that time of night. I picked it up and walked into the lounge and sat in my swivel seat and switched the television on. The late news filled the screen as I opened the letter with a beating heart. It was from Rachel saying she had called round and would call back again tomorrow. I sank back into my chair and laughed with relief.
The wind whipped around me as I clung onto the cliff. I looked down and watched as waves crashed into the rocks at the foot of the cliffs and receded in a white froth. My feet were slipping from the ledge they were pushing down on. I felt panic rise in my stomach and spread up to my head.
“Give me your hand,” said a voice from above. I gazed up and saw a figure with wings silhouetted in the large moon. I loosened my grip, and a scream erupted in my mind: “For heaven’s-sake - don’t!” A foot slipped free from the ledge and I tried to dig the other farther in. A gust of wind crashed into me and dislodged one of my hands and I gazed down in terror at the frothy hell below as I swung out.
“For pity’s sake take my hand, and I will save you,” said the figure.
My other foot slipped, and I grabbed the proffered hand.
I sat up and wiped the sweat from my forehead and stared into the darkness of my bedroom. I looked at the red digital figures of my alarm clock: it was 3:10 AM. Throwing off the duvet I jumped out of bed and made my way downstairs with images of the winged figure from the nightmare flooding my mind. I opened the fridge and the bright light hurt my eyes. I grabbed a yoghurt drink and shut the door. Switching on the radio and putting on the lights I sat at the breakfast bar as late-night jazz flooded the kitchen.
I used to have the same dream when I was a kid with always with the same result. I wondered if the medium show had brought it on.
Chapter Four In 1973 I was walking down Arbroath High Street with two mates, Andy Matthews and Mike Smith. We were laughing about attempting to date girls we knew, who just weren’t interested.
“Hey Mike, how did you get on with Jenny?” I asked as I heard footsteps running up behind us.
I turned around and saw Johnny McKenzie and a companion of his approaching fast.
“Run–it’s Mackenzie!” I shouted.
My friends shot off like hares. A kick to the thigh which paralysed my leg made sure I couldn’t follow them. The two bullies pushed me into a shop doorway, then grabbed me and began a torrent of kicks and punches. I felt the first blows, but after that my body seemed to switch off. My mind rose away from that horrible doorway, and I saw a winged figure descend toward me
“Give me your hand, and I will save you,” said the dark figure.
I grasped it, and I found myself outside my parents’ house with blood running down my face.
All this passed through my mind as I had the grey-haired Mackenzie pinned up against the door where he had attacked me. I had a knee stuck in his groin and a gloved hand around his throat.
“Don’t make a sound,” I said as I kicked open the door of the empty shop and we both stumbled in.
“What the fuck!” he screamed as I reasserted my hold on the bastard. I slapped him across the jaw and felt joy run through me. This pathetic creature used to terrorize teenage Arbroath, I thought as I watched the blood run down his chin.
“Hey man, I’ve got a family,” he hissed as I kicked the door shut with the heel of my boot.
I remember you–you’re that little fucker that used to hang around the teenage disco at the Community Centre in the old days,” he went on.
An unfortunate choice of words as I pushed my knee further into his groin and head-butted him. I let him fall into the dark as I pulled a rope from my jacket. I then grabbed his body and turned him over on to his stomach and pulled his hands together and tied his wrists I then wiped his forehead with a medical wipe. He was murmuring and cursing as I gagged him with an old rag. I then tied his ankles together and stood up. And for a moment I gazed through the gloom at the guy who used to give me nightmares.
I kicked the bastard and said: “Listen up you fucker, I’m Detective Chief Inspector Devine and if you say anything about this to anybody, I will make life very difficult for you and your family. You got that?”
I heard a muffled reply, so I opened the door and walked out on to the High Street. I walked up to Kirk Square and round on to Hill Place where I got into my car and drove around to the High Street.
I parked outside the bingo hall and settled down to watch the empty shop doorway. I checked that there were no surveillance cameras on this part of the street.
Arbroath High Street on a cold Monday night was not a busy place; a few drunken marines from the local base passed by searching for another pub. I looked at my watch–it was half past Nine. A few kids on skate boards stopped beside the shop doorway and lit up cigarettes then pushed on.
After an hour and a half, I phoned in an anonymous call to the local police about noises from the empty shop on the High Street. I glanced over at the doorway one more time before starting the engine and heading back to Dundee.
I was going to bed with the evening paper under my arm when my mobile erupted into life.
“Yes Derek?” I asked the phone.
“Sorry to interrupt your evening sir,”
“No, you’re not. I have a beautiful model waiting for me upstairs.” I said with a grin.
“This is becoming a bad habit – there’s been another body found in Arbroath.
My heart pounded, and I felt it might leap out of my chest.
“Where this time?” I asked as if I didn’t know.
“In an empty property on the High Street.”
“Okay Derek, I’ll just have to tell the model I prefer you instead.”
It was almost midnight when I turned on to Arbroath High Street. A light rain had begun as I parked
the car and walked up to where several uniforms were standing outside the empty shop front.
“DCI Devine,” I said. “Is DS White in the building?”
“Yes sir,” said a Sergeant with a brown, well-trimmed moustache.
I pulled on a pair of shoe covers and gloves then entered the shop.
“Sorry to pull you away from the blond sir.” Derek said as he came toward me through the shaded light provided by a temporary lamp.
“A chance would be a fine thing,” I said looking at the body of Mackenzie.
“His name is John Mackenzie–a local man - stayed in Moir Place.”
I noticed the rope I had tied his hands together with was now around his neck as I knelt down and lifted one of his arms to look for marks on the wrist. The shop was full of men with white suits so I replaced the arm.
“The cavalry’s arrived,” I quipped.
“Yeah, and here’s Custer,” whispered Derek as the Pathologist strode through the doorway.
“We seem to meet quite a lot at the moment Steven,” Cochrane said as he gazed at the body.
“Yes, it’s becoming quite a habit, isn’t it?” I said running a hand through my hair.
When I got back home, I headed straight to the cupboard in the kitchen where I kept my drink and pulled out a bottle of whisky. I poured a generous amount into a glass and swallowed the lot. The warming sensation as it ran down my throat restored me; so I poured another measure and strolled into the lounge and slumped into my favourite chair.
Some bastard must have been waiting until I left the High Street before entering the empty shop and strangling Mackenzie, I thought as I took a swig from the glass. There’s no way anyone was waiting in the shop or out the back of the property unless they can mind read.
I stood up and stared at my reflection in the darkened glass of the window which became my wife.
“Christ, what’s going on here June?” I asked her.
All I wanted to do was get some revenge on these bullies by giving them a thumping; now I’ve got their murders on my conscience. And worse, some mad bastard’s following me around! I thought.
My mind wanted to press on further and think about the spirit realm and the advice from the psychic at the show, but I drowned that thought with a long slug of whisky.
I looked at the picture on the coffee table of my 20th anniversary on the force party. A group of smiling faces. Maybe I should have found another job, but what would I have done – gardening? No this was my life, my work and my hobby.
“A good man,” Chief Constable, Barry Gilcrist, had said, “well-liked by his colleagues, but not liked so much by the other fraternity.”
I took another slug of whisky and sat down. I laughed. Was I losing my mind? I had to push on and find this crazy fucker even if it meant more murders!
Chapter Five The sun was peeking between the buildings as I drove down Lochee Road. I turned into West Marketgait where the Tayside headquarters of Police Scotland sat gazing at a former mill building across the road. I drove into the car park and parked then sat for a moment watching people make their way to the Sheriff Court House, which was next to the station. My head pounded, and I regretted the last whisky I had the previous night.
In my office I switched on my computer while I looked at the pink memo stickers which surrounded the monitor. I clicked on the icon of past cases and read through folders going back some thirty years.
Who had been released in the last few months I wondered? Some bastard, who carried a grudge against me. Easier to think of the ones who hadn’t a grudge against me!
Derek White knocked on my door so I exited the program and clicked the internet explorer button.
“Come in Derek,” I said.
“Sir, did you get the Fiscal’s report on the Forbes murder? I left it on your desk.”
“Yes.” I lied as I typed ‘football results’ in Google. “How are we getting on Derek?”
“Not great sir,” he said with a quivering upper lip.
“Well, call a meeting for Eleven in the incident room.”
“Sir,” he said as he left.
I was coming under pressure from above so I would have to shake things up. How was I going to find the culprit without compromising myself? I would have to deflect some of the evidence that would point in my direction. I’ve always done things my way, not by the book all the time, but always above board. Heavy-handed, maybe, but fair. I was due this for all these years of graft and all the shit I had to take from both sides of the fence.
I walked into the incident room and said: “Okay ladies and gentlemen let’s get down to business.”
In the room was my regular team of DS Derek White and DC Susan Moran along with, at the insistence of my boss, DS John Milne and DC Dave Ross from Arbroath.
The Arbroath men deal with small local issues, but because of the seriousness of the situation they were here to offer local knowledge and help us with a guide to local villains.
“We've got to move this along. What do we have? Three murders in Arbroath and no suspects.”
“They’ve all got one thing in common, said Derek, “the bodies were all tied up and beaten before being killed,” he continued.
“We will not use the serial word yet. There’s a lot of drugs around in Arbroath, let’s look at it from that point of view,” I said.
“We’ve been shaking down most of the local dealers with little success,” said Milne looking at Ross.
“Well let’s shake the trees a bit harder and see what drops out!” I ordered.
As I was closing my office door Detective Chief Superintendent Bruce Mann said, “Can I have a word, Steven?” as he approached through the open plan CID room.
“Sir,” I said holding the door open.
He strolled to the window and raised a few of the slats of the blinds. He looked up and down the street as if he was checking to see if we were being watched. “The Chief Constable has had Angus Councilors phoning him about these murders in Arbroath. They’re concerned about public safety as you can understand. I know you’ve dealt with the papers. I need you, as lead officer, to speak to the television people who are coming here this afternoon at Three. Try to calm the public down–Christ, they’re talking about wanting the marines from RM Condor to patrol the streets! Tell them we’re putting extra uniforms on the streets and that we’re interviewing several suspects.”
“You want me to lie Bruce!”
“No… not exactly–we are increasing street patrols.”
I looked at my watch, it was 6PM, the STV interview had gone well on the steps at the front of the building. I now sat with three names I had written on my pad. I had spent hours searching through the past case files, and these individuals resulted from the work. James Kilpatrick, a man
who killed his wife to get the house they owned in Broughty Ferry paid off from the insurance walked free almost a year ago. He had tried to make it look like suicide by putting the body in a sealed-up car with the engine running. I still have sleepless nights with the look he gave me after the Court case.
Another was John Roy, released a few months ago. He had battered a shopkeeper to death in Arbroath with a baseball bat in the days before closed circuit television. It took a lot of police work to trap him. He pulled a finger across his throat while looking at me as he was being sent down.
Marie Croal killed a family she was cleaning and cooking for in Carnoustie then took off with their car and emptied their bank account. We eventually tracked her down, with the help of the Met, in London. She sent me a lot of threatening letters throughout the years. Croal was in a Low Security Mental hospital – having been stepped down from high security. I should have crossed her off the list, but something told me not to.
Great, I thought, as I stood up and grabbed my jacket, these model citizens released and back on the streets. I sighed and switched out the light and closed my door, I’d had enough!
I thought it was time to get night lights installed–the ones that come on when you pull into the driveway - as I left the car and looked at my house wrapped in darkness.
A smell of burning flowed out of the house as I opened the front door. My heart rate sped as I ran in and switched on the lounge lights and saw the words ‘take my hand, and I’ll save you’ scorched into the carpet.
“Now I’m getting freaked!” I shouted at the ceiling.
I ran through the house checking every room and window. I tried the backdoor, but it was locked.
If someone had been into my house, they locked the door as they left! I threw my keys onto the settee and went to the booze cupboard in the kitchen and retrieved a bottle of Grouse. I poured a generous measure into a glass and then swallowed the lot. I then opened the kitchen window and then ran through to the lounge and opened the window there.
Jesus, I thought, have I got a vengeful spirit following me around? No one could have done this–it was my way of getting out of bad situations when I was a kid. Could I have made… no! There had to be some rational explanation. The next day I would get another carpet laid.
I went to the gun cupboard under the stairs and grabbed my pistol and a box of cartridges. I ran a hand along my shot gun which I kept loaded just in case and wished I’d never started all this.
Maybe it was coming anyway, I thought, as I locked the cupboard.
I slept with the pistol under my pillow and dreamt of my wife running from me then falling over a cliff. I ran to the edge of the cliff and tried to reach for her, but I couldn’t grasp her flailing arms.
I wiped the tears from my face and cried: “No!”
A cool breeze swept across me as I regained consciousness. I realised I had left the bedroom window open. The sun was shining through the trees in my garden as I closed the window and headed into the bathroom for a shower.
I cursed when I saw what some bastard had done to my carpet as I made my way into the kitchen for some much-needed coffee. Either someone had a set of keys for my house, or I was dealing with something fucking weird, I thought, as I switched the kettle on.
It must have been my lucky day because as I was sitting in my office reading the newspaper Derek White knocked on my door and entered.
“Derek?” I said.
“How are you, sir?”
“Fine. Sit down,” I said nodding to the chair in front of my desk.
“I’ve been doing some checking on murderers who have been released, who came from the local area. And I ‘ve come up with some names.”
“Oh,” I said feigning slight interest. “Who?”
“There’s a John Roy from Arbroath, released three months ago. He’s staying in the town. There’s Marie Croal, released last year. The last ones a long shot because of his age. His name is James Kilpatrick, he killed his wife in the Ferry; tried to make it look like suicide.”
“I remember Kilpatrick. He looked respectable… played on it, but underneath–just another ruthless
killer.” I said. “Right, well done Derek, I’ll check out Kilpatrick. Will you see to Mr. Roy?”
“Okay sir,” said Derek as he stood up
.,
Chapter Six I pulled up in front of 6 Cairnhill Road in the Broughty Ferry suburb of Dundee as the late afternoon sun was starting its descent. The house, an old block built two-storey building, sat facing south, looking over the river Tay from an elevation above street level.
I left my car and climbed the stairs and crossed the driveway which ran along the front of the property and swept down to street level at either end. The portico, a stone canopy supported by trimmed tree trunks painted green, looked out of place.
A brass plaque with a button had press written under it. I rang the bell and stepped back on to the driveway and looked in the darkened lower windows for a sign of life. I felt I was being sized-up from the darkness. I rang the bell again and knocked on the heavy paneled door painted the same green that decorated the canopy supports.
The door eventually opened and a man stepped forward. He was balding and what hair he had was grey. A grey goatee hung from his face.
“DS Devine, I never thought I would see you again.”
“It's DCI Devine now James.”
“Ah, right. And is this a social call?”
“I’m investigating murders in Arbroath.”
“And you thought seeing as I’ve just been released, I'd be on a killing spree to get back at the establishment–right!”
“Come on now James, I’m just doing my job.”
“Look Chief Inspector Devine, I’ve done my time. What I did was wrong. There hasn’t been a day in the last eighteen years where I’ve woken up and not regretted what I did. If I could go back and stop what I did, I would - a thousand times.”
“I have to ask you where you were on Thursday 25th of August at 11pm.”
“I would have been in bed. I’m sixty-four for heaven’s sake.”
“How about the second of September at midnight?”
“Again, I would have been in my bed. My neighbours could corroborate my story; I see them as I prepare for bed. I live alone.”
“And I suppose the same for the seventh of September at around 9 pm?”
“Ah well there I can help you, because I was staying with my sister in Paisley the weekend of the fifth and the sixth and I stayed over on the Monday–the seventh and came home on the Tuesday.”
“Can I have your sister’s name and address?”
“Yes.”
He disappeared into the hallway and then returned a few minutes later with a piece of paper.
“There you are.”
“Well thanks for your help, Mr. Kilpatrick,” I said as I turned away.
“Despite what you think of me Mr. Devine, I miss my dear Elaine!”
There was one thing Kilpatrick, and I shared: losing our wives, I thought as I drove through the rush hour traffic. I felt sorry for the poor bastard. I would score him off my list.
I noticed a blue van sitting in my driveway as I turned into my street and I remembered that I had called in by a carpet store and chose a carpet in the morning. The guy could lay it right away so I gave him my spare key.
My mobile rang as I opened the front door, and I had to step out of the way of a carpet layer carrying a roll of underlay.
“Yes–Derek?” I answered.
“Sir, John Roy now stays with his mother in Arbroath, and he wasn’t pleased to see us. He told us to fuck off and leave him alone but after we calmed him down, we found out he was at home with his mother on two of the nights of the murders. He had no alibi for the third night because his mother was at the bingo that night.”
“Okay Derek, good work. We can rule out Kilpatrick.”
The carpet layer came back into the house and asked: “What do you want done with your old
“Could you leave it in my garage,” I replied. I hadn’t decided what I would do with it. “Just some drunken bugger at a party I had I’m afraid,” I said shrugging my shoulders.
Later that evening I turned off the television and picked up the newspaper. I then collapsed back into my easy chair as my mobile chimed.
“Yeah, hello?”
“Sir its Derek, I forgot to tell you about Marie Croal.”
“Derek, you got to take up drinking or something.”
“The ‘or something’ sounds fine, if I could find the time.”
“What about Marie Croal?”
“She has a cast iron alibi–she’s been an inmate in Royal Tayview Mental Hospital for a year.”
“What’s that about,” I said with a sinking feeling.
“Diagnosed in the prison as having personality disorders and sectioned to Carstairs. At the end of her sentence, she was admitted to Tayvion.”
“Right Derek thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow mate,” I said as I shut my mobile.