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‘Had your go at fixing it. It’s my neck on the line. You want a job done properly, do it yourself, it’s what the Big Man says.’
‘You got us into this mess. Now you listen to me…’ Baird was used to respect. The top brass, inspectors, sergeants, tough coppers with years of experience, hung on his words.
‘Or what?’ the voice challenged, and Baird knew where the fear he felt came from. It came from the feeling of powerlessness. You can’t reason with a mad dog. There’s only one way you teach it respect. Be quicker, scarier and have a bigger bite. Baird knew the day had arrived when he’d have to shrug off his fine suits and go back to the sticky end. He’d been too soft, he looked weak. Well, that was soon fixed. He wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. He remembered his father, a peaceable man, back in their pit village, slugging it out with another miner who’d goaded him once too often. The blood mixed with sweat and coal dust, streaks of red and black across the sun-starved flesh of his muscled arms. Eventually his father had lost patience with the mouthy upstart and felled him with a single punch, the man hitting the ground like a dislodged pit timber.
‘My turn now, Gavie-boy,’ the voice said, hauling him back to the present.
‘Listen to me, you sick bastard,’ Baird growled, but no one was listening. He heard the click and empty buzz of silence on the line. He threw down the phone, hauling his jacket from the back of his chair. He fumbled his car keys, ran down to the car park and sped from the station, heading for south.
Chapter 32
Shona expected a photo album. Tea and tears. She felt an obligation to stay, it would be a kindness. But the truth was she had nowhere else to go. Another DI would already be sitting at her desk in the CID office. If she went home, the guests would be out and she’d have to face Rob. Becca would still be in bed. Shona wasn’t looking forward to breaking the news of her suspension or Rob’s insurmountable debts to her daughter, but it needed to be soon. It was time Becca understood what was going on and prepared herself for the changes to come. But Shona could put that off for an hour to sit with Marie. If nothing else, Marie reminded her that no matter how bad things were, Shona was still the luckier of the two.
The boys raced ahead across the beach; Marie had promised them chips. Liam seemed content to let Ryan lead him, stopping by items of interest along the way, a coloured rock or a feather, which he pocketed. At one point Ryan picked up a discarded toy car, the dull metal showing beneath the chipped red paint, and handed it to the younger boy, folding Liam’s fingers tight around it. Liam looked at it blankly but didn’t let go.
Marie’s large static caravan sat at the far end of a row. Most of its companions were already locked up for the winter, their windows shuttered against the coming storms. At the door, the boys kicked off their wellies. Ryan placed both sets carefully upright next to Marie’s rubber clogs. There were more wellies and a pair of trainers too big to fit either boy. A Nike hoodie lay next to them. He led his cousin up the metal steps and pulled open the door. Inside, Shona could hear his excited chatter, a second voice replying. Marie must have other family staying. Shona’s heart sank. They’d react badly to the news that the investigation into Isla’s death was over, bombard her with questions she couldn’t answer. Marie might join in, or leap to her defence. Either way, a family row would ensue. She turned to the woman at her elbow. ‘Marie, listen, maybe I should go. I don’t want to make this any harder for you than it is.’
Marie put a hand out to stop Shona. ‘I want you here.’ She bit her lip. ‘Just remember one thing. I did all this for her,’ she said simply, before motioning Shona to go inside.
‘What do you mean?’ Shona frowned. But Marie was still ushering her forward, so she kicked off her shoes and climbed the steps.
Shona’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim light inside the caravan. To her left, the boys were already on the banquette seat that ran around the bay end of the caravan facing out to Solway Firth. On the table, a magazine and a coffee mug lay abandoned by a small, dark haired girl, late teens or early twenties, indistinct against the grey autumn light. She wore a black fluffy jumper and jeans, her legs curled up under her. The girl smiled at the treasures Ryan spilled from his pocket. Shona looked around. Through open doors she saw three small bedrooms, two with double beds and one containing bunks and cartoon duvets, but there was no other family in sight.
The dark-haired girl glanced up at the new visitor. The smile faded. ‘What’s this?’ she said to Marie.
‘Hello, I’m Shona Oliver.’ Shona smiled, coming forward.
‘I know who you are,’ the girl said.
Shona stopped in her tracks. A pair of blue eyes stared defiantly back at her. Shona looked from Ryan to the young woman and back. There was no mistaking the resemblance. Shona blinked. The face was small and pointed. Shona took a step closer and saw that blonde roots pushed up into the short dark hair. Could this be the young woman sitting in a hospital bed, battered by her boyfriend? The pale body tangled with ghost gear lying on the sandbank in the middle of the Solway Firth? It couldn’t be. Shona felt her heart leap in her chest. She took another step closer. ‘Isla? Is that you?’
The young woman shifted in her seat, pulling Ryan closer. The boy put his arm protectively around the woman’s shoulders. ‘Aye,’ she said eventually. ‘Aye, it’s me.’
Behind her, out of the window, was a glint of brightness, the sun coming from behind a cloud out over the firth. This was the woman in the water, but out here on the coast, by some miracle, the sea had given her back.
‘So, who?’ Shona asked. ‘How?’
‘Think you better sit down,’ said Marie. ‘I’ll away and take the boys over to the cafe for chips. I’ll let Isla tell you.’
Once they were alone, Isla pulled a packet of cigarettes from their hiding place in an overhead locker. If she was conscious that Shona was staring at her she didn’t show it.
‘D’you mind if we go outside, my mother doesnae like me smoking in the van.’ She wrapped a chunky white scarf around her, opened the door and slipped her feet into the Nike trainers on the mat. They stopped in a sheltered spot between the caravan and a low hedge of yellow gorse bent double by the wind.
‘You okay here? You warm enough?’ Shona asked, conscious that she was slipping into lifeboat mode, caring for a casualty, as if Isla had only just been plucked from the water. Isla’s pale face looked as fragile as bone china and she barely came up past Shona’s shoulder. One strong puff of wind might blow her away.
Isla shrugged. ‘I’m fine.’ She put a cigarette
between bare lips and with a practised stance lit it first time. From the packet she also drew a folded photograph, holding it delicately between third finger and thumb, and positioning it for Shona to see. It was the line-up of Isla and her cousins that Shona had seen in the kitchen when she’d first told Marie the news of her daughter’s death.
‘That’s me.’ Isla pointed to the blonde teenage girl with the centre parting on the far right, then worked her way along. ‘Paul, Josh, Matty,’ she skipped a face, ‘and on the end’s my wee brother, Lewis.’ She came back along the line, her child-like finger with its chipped polish and bitten nail resting tenderly on the only other girl in the photograph. A slight girl with blonde hair and Isla’s blue eyes. ‘That’s my cousin, Siobhan.’ She faltered. ‘It’s… it’s her body you found.’
‘Marie’s sister, your Aunt Margaret? It’s her daughter?’
‘Aye, that’s right.’ Isla blew out a trail of smoke. ‘Though Maggie the Misery never wanted much to do with Shiv, even before she was a jakie. Shiv’s sister, Neve, was the favourite. Neve got hit by a car coming home fae school and Margaret told Shiv the wrong girl had died. What a bitch. Then Shiv had Liam, and, well, he spends all his time with us.’ Isla shrugged. ‘My Auntie Margaret has religion. Thinks she’s above us all. And Shiv’s dad, my Uncle Joe, gave his daughter a bit too much attention, if you ken what I mean. We had a lot in common, me and Shiv.’ Isla’s expression darkened.
More in common than you know, thought Shona, remembering the file she’d just reviewed. Identification of the body was via partial DNA match to Paddy Corr. So, Siobhan must be Paddy’s daughter, Isla’s half-sister, rather than her cousin. There was no record in the file of the DNA sample Shona had asked Ravi to collect from Marie. It was the second question she’d written on the review list pinned to the front after ‘Toxicology report?’ Now those questions had both been answered. Was Quinox present in all three victims? Yes. Confirmed ID through maternal DNA link to Marie Corr? No.
Did Paddy have an affair with Margaret, his wife’s sister? Or, knowing Paddy’s record and reputation, was Siobhan the result of rape? That was a question Shona couldn’t answer, but it might be one explanation for Margaret’s estrangement from Siobhan.
