Hunt Hunted Murder Murdered (9 page)

7

7.1 Aidrian

Aid hadn't heard anymore from Bob, so texted him again to find out if he had managed to catch up with Spiv. The bar sat empty and Aid felt as though he would be adding more value by being anywhere else. Marge, the interim bar manager, was going through the accounts across from him and she did not like anyone skiving off.

'I'll go and get some more bottles out of the stables,' Aid called over, but Marge just sat in the natural dim light over by the window. He veered off through to the other bar. The stables area was only used for functions and still held a musty, stale smoke smell, regardless that the smoking ban had been in place for a good while. So Bob hadn't got Spiv yet, or at least hadn't let on.

Aid glanced through and saw Marge still sitting calculating losses he assumed, for this quiet country bar. The phone illuminated and lit up his eyes as he typed in S..P..I..V. It started to ring, but no answer. Spiv wasn't taking calls by the looks of things. One last try before getting the bottles through and not have to face the bar manager’s wrath. P...A...M.

'Hello'

“Hi Pam. It's Aid'

'Why are you whispering? I can't hear you very well'

'I'm at work. Listen, I need to speak to Spiv. Is he there?'

There was a pause. A definite and noticeable pause.

'No, sorry Aid. He's not with me.'

'Do you know where I can get him?'

'Sorry Aid. I don't think I can help you.'

'OK, you have no idea where he is?'

'I think he is going to be away for a while.'

'What do you mean a while?'

'Just that’s what he said. He needed a break from everything. Needed to get away. '

'Can you get him to call if you speak to him. It's pretty important. We need to speak to him.'

'Yeah, Bob said'

'Did you speak to Bob? Oh. Ok. Listen just, please, get him to call'

'OK. I said I would’

'It's really important Pam.'

‘Only if you don’t believe him. But I do. I thought you were his friends’.

‘Pam. I… I want to. I just want to speak to him. Ok’

The call was brief and unhelpful. Why would he run off now? Unless...

Another quick text to Bob to update him. A loud cough from through in the bar clocked his senses again and he chinked a few bottles together on the bunker before he gathered a few more, tucking the phone back into his breast pocket.

'Is there anything else I can do right now Marge?’

Marge said nothing, in mid calculation, while Aid realised his error.

'5, 500 and 12, 50', Marge counted aloud to make sure Aid could hear. He acknowledged it with a palm mouthing sorry at her. Then he picked up some glasses from the drainer, looked for a dishtowel to dry them with and started thinking about the Spiv situation.

What could he do to help out here? Was there anything that they still just didn't understand? They couldn’t just jump on a letter and blame Spiv. The scarf story was pretty scary, but maybe it was just a story. Whatever it was Ian Ingram had made the whole situation change. Aid’s opinion had changed. Suddenly things just didn’t fit as neatly as they had last year. He put down the pint glass and accidentally nudged a wine glass onto the floor. It shattered immediately.

'Sorry, that was me. Is there a brush.'

'Second door from the end of the back corridor'. Marge didn't look up. She was probably deducting the 30 or 40 pence damages from Aids pay cheque.

Aid wandered off through the back corridor which led into the workers’ quarters, mainly offices and stores. The kitchen was off to the left and the larder within it. Then there was the main office and across from that was the wee office, where he imagined Ian Ingram spent most of the day when he had staff on. TV, PC, DVDs....

Second from the end there were 2 doors opposite each other. One looked like it needed a Yale lock. That would be the one, so he flicked through the keys until he found the right one – a particularly stained affair – and unlocked the door. The room was dark, so Aid flashed his hand up and down the inside wall to find the light switch. It flickered on, and immediately he discovered that this was not the broom cupboard but a single bedroom. An employee’s pad – unoccupied, with nothing much in it. He switched off the light and the door began to swing closed when Aid stopped it – just open. Was this Pam's room? Was that why it remained bare? After she left no-one else had stayed here. The relatives all stayed in the Ingram's main house across the back from the bar.

Aid switched the light back on and searched with his eyes for any details the police may have missed. What would they miss though? They would have had a damn good idea about what they needed to look for – much more than Aid did. He moved the bed and opened the drawers in an old desk that sat there. Nothing - but what did he expect? Something Pam had which indicted or freed Spiv? Maybe his head was running away with him. Maybe he shouldn't have taken this job, but with all the letters coming from Ingram maybe there was truth in some of it or all of it. He sat back on the bed trying to clear his thoughts. He would get out of here, out of this job and get back down to Rosyth to help Bob find Spiv. His phone jingled. A text – from Bob.

‘On the road. Goin 2 C Spiv. He's in Dumfries. I'll text you the postcode for your satnav.’

A further jingle confirmed the satnav detail.

‘I'll b there soon. Take care.’ Aid replied

Aid decided he would give back the bar keys and get out of there. He got up from the bed and stumbled over a waste basket, spilling the contents onto the floor. Clumsy day. Receipts from various shops in town, female purchases, and a note block. Nothing obvious on it but, using amateur detective skills acquired at an early age to read his sisters secret notes, he took the bar pencil which was tucked behind his ear and scribbled across the page to reveal the last message written on the pad.

7.2 Tom and Emma

It was late when Tom arrived back at the house. He took off his jacket revealing a striped jumper that Emma had bought him for his last birthday.

Emma had slept in the spare room the previous night and was gone when he awoke in the morning. All day he had been texting her, and calling her folks. She would get over it... eventually. Never once did it cross his mind to change his ways. He would make up with Emma. He knew he would have to woo her and egg her into submission, but would ultimately get her onside and the sex would feel different, like it does with all those different women. It was a challenge he would relish. And he would, as always, succeed.

Tom pushed the glass paneled front door closed, then immediately bumped into the side table. The noise of a vase tumbling acted like a switch as a light went on at the top of the stairs. So she had returned home.

'Hello? Emma?'

Footsteps above him, movement from the bedroom to the landing, and eventually Emma stood before him in an enticing, sexy black negligee, her blond hair wet and slicked back to the sides. This was not the norm. This was exciting in a different way and Tom’s heart pumped hard.

'Hi honey'. Her voice was smooth and emotionless. Not in a cold way. She seemed fine. She appeared to have been healed.

'Wow, is this for me?'

'Who else?'

Tom tossed down his jacket and started to climb the stairs.

'But there is a catch'. She still spoke with that calm collected voice and looked amazing as she turned from him, baring her pert bottom.

'Anything. I love you. Anything.'

In the bedroom some candles burned on the window sill and the scent was warm and aromatic. Josticks had been burned, and the light from the flickering candle was sensual and inviting. He grabbed Emma's waist and she pushed him off.

'I said that there is a catch. There will be no touching - yet. There will be some rules that you will abide by'

'Anything'. He pushed her bra strap across her shoulder toppling it over her arm slowly while looking deep into her eyes.

'I said no touching'. Emma pushed his arm aside and pointed to the bed.

The bed had been stripped. Only a deep crimson satin sheet remained, and some cushions that Tom recognised were from the living room. Emma had really excelled herself here and he would obey tonight to get his love back. And what a way to do it. Emma picked up some ribbons.

'Now strip for me'.

Tom pulled his jumper up over his head. Nothing on below it. His torso rippled and looked good in the chilled air. He looked at Emma, eagerly awaiting a response. She just pointed at his lower regions.

'And the rest'. Soon trousers, socks and boxers were lying on the floor and Tom, happy with his body as ever, stood in full glory while Emma bit at her lip and smiled a crooked smile. She was oozing sexuality to Tom. He made to move.

'Hold on soldier'. She pushed onto his chest with one hand, and held a red ribbon in the other.

'I am not ready yet. I need you to think about what you have done. I need you to beg for forgiveness'

She pushed him onto the bed and walked alongside it. Then she grabbed Toms arm, tying the ribbon around it and the middle metal bedpost. She picked up another ribbon.

'I love you Emma and I'm so sorry'. She leant across Tom’s face and the skin above her breast touched it, as she tied the other ribbon to the post. She paused on the return, allowing him to nibble at her bra. A third ribbon appeared, and Emma stroked Tom’s chest, groin and thigh as she moved towards his feet. Tom was in heaven. Having tied the final ribbons in place, she left Tom lying like Da Vinci’s Vitruvian man before he started his star jumps..

'Now, lie still'

She released a set of handcuffs, and they fell down from her hand. She walked around the bed securing Tom’s hands with the cuffs, and checking the ties on his feet.

'Are you really sorry?' She lay emotionlessly across him. He squirmed a little but felt himself getting aroused.

Emma made her way off the bed to the en-suite.

'Where are you going?'

'To change into something more comfortable. You have some thinking to do.'

She was right and she had made her point. He hadn’t been fair to Emma and he would have to work harder to make sure that any straying he ever did from now on was hidden, much more than before. She was right. He would have to do better. No more pawing young students and feeling up old mares just for the kicks. He would have to be less casual and give her some respect. But not if it meant not getting his end away.

The bathroom door closed and Emma moved about in there preparing herself. The ties on his feet felt tight. He couldn’t move. Tom grew increasingly aroused and excited.

The light in the bathroom went off, and the door opened. Tom stared across from the bed and saw Emma in her dressing gown. He wanted to rip it off her now. But in his position she had all the aces. She stepped into the dim candlelight, and opened up the gown towards him.

'What the fuck?'

Emma dropped the robe, standing fully dressed in blouse, jacket and a short skirt. She walked off to the closet and pulled out a pair of sleek black shoes.

'What’s going on Emm?' Tom pulled at the bed trying to turn over, but found himself firmly fixed in place with the handcuffs and ribbons.

'I'm getting my end away'

'Emm, I'm so sorry. I never wanted you to find out like that. I promise you'

'I know. You never wanted me to find out at all.' Shoes on, she sat on the side of the bed.

'I'm sorry too'.

She pulled a guitar string out of her pocket, and stretched it out.

'What’s going on Emm?' Tom’s voice grew louder. The reality of the situation was beginning to dawn on him – he wasn’t getting it his way after all.

Emma touched Tom’s semi-hard penis caressingly.

'Aw, isn't it cute'. She smiled her crooked smile again. Tom craned his neck to see what she was doing.

'Emm. We can work this out. I promise you' Emma pushed her hand under Tom’s penis and meticulously placed a loop of guitar string over it, and rolls it down to the base. She pulled on it a little and held the string up in the air, watching Toms willie moving like a puppet.

'No, Emm.’ Tom started to move about, sweating now - the cold sweat of fear.

Emma chuckled faintly staring at the helpless man she had given too much of her life to. She kissed his chest - and stood up.

'Where are you going Emm?'

Emma walked towards the door still holding the other end of the guitar string.

'I am not prepared to let you one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight or nine time me Tom'. She said this as she glanced over to him and fixed the other noose end of the guitar string over the bedroom door handle.

'And I'm not prepared to let anyone else have to put up with you either!'

She slammed the door behind her.

8

Aidrian flicked his phone open and speed dialed his mate again. No answer. No reception in some areas of the borders, but he needed to speak to him.

He looked at the phone and with nimble fingers scrolled down the phone list to 'Bob and Marie'.

'Hi Marie, I can’t reach Bob. Is he with you?’

‘No Aid, he’s working'

'Working?'

'Yeah, overtime'

'I don't think so Marie. Unless he's back already, but he cannae be..'

'Back from where?'

'Dumfries'

‘Better no be in Dumfries, he’s got my car’.

‘He texted me to say that Spiv was in Dumfries’.

‘What would Spiv be doing in Dumfries?’

‘Fuck knows, but that’s what he texted me and I can’t get him on the phone’

‘I’ll try and get him on mine’.

‘Did he tell you about Ingram's letters?’

‘Yes. Some. Do you really think Spiv could do that though?’

‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. I hope not. I’ll give him friends’ benefit of the doubt until further notice’

‘You are a good friend, Aid.’

‘I try.’

‘How’s Mon?’

‘She went to her Mums’

‘You didnae kick her out did you?’

‘No, no. She just panicked a bit about the letters, and the fact I hadn’t said anything. You know what she’s like.’

‘I’ll go and speak to her.’

‘That would be good. I didnae mean to upset her. It’s actually why I didn’t tell her. Cannae win.’ Marie was about to sign off. ‘Before you go, Marie, I need to tell you something. It’s a big thing.’

‘Go on’.

‘I found something in the Crook Inn. Don’t ask me why I was there.’

‘Ok. What is it?’

‘I don’t trust Pam, that’s all. If you get Bob, just tell him. I’ve texted him why, but I might be wrong. ’

‘Ok. I will, but why don’t you trust Pam? What did you find?’

---

Bob blared some Fratelli’s through Marie's souped up speakers. The car rocked as he flew down the motorway.

‘After 1 mile.. take the next junction on the left.’ The satnav boomed through the speakers, the only way Bob would hear it over the heavy guitar and drums. He had no clue where he was heading. Spiv told him to get off the motorway and head towards a village called Dalswinton. The postcode would get him there and Spiv's red beamer would indicate to him which cottage he was at.

Spiv had been spooked into leaving the town. He had been coy with Bob, but wanted to speak to him before he fled for good. Bob had asked if Spiv was guilty. ‘Fuck no,’ was the reply, ‘but those bastards will frame me. My record is shit and, to be honest, I’m surprised they havenae tried to get me for it already.’

‘After 200 yards take the next junction on the left.’

Bob veered off the slip road and round and under the motorway onto a clear stretch of open road, left vacant by all those people who took only trunk roads to get to their destination.

Spiv was no killer. He knew Spiv and he wasn't like that. Why would he tell Bob about Dev being his brother and about being with Ollie Ingram if he had then gone on to kill them both – or either of them. No, Bob believed Spiv and he would use the time they had together down in deepest darkest Dumfries and Galloway to get to the bottom of it. He would encourage Spiv to stay and clear his name, instead of running and looking guilty.

But then they would have to face up to the truth of what did happen last year. Because Ian Ingram still had what he believed was evidence against one of them. And if it wasn't Spiv....

The road twisted and narrowed over stone bridges which passed with a flicker of the headlamp and then back to more open stretches up hill to blind summits and down again through the wondrous valleys. Sheep stood on the slopes and watched. To Bob they were a blur of white foam flashing by him.

---

Lauder College was quiet. It was a Sunday evening after all. The windows of the overlooking flats were lit to varying degrees as students got ready to go out or were studying behind closed curtains.

Mon had picked up Marie. Emma hadn't been around when they visited her home. No sign of her there, although Marie swore she saw Emma's car as they passed the train station in Rosyth. So it would be up to them to confront Pam. The exterior of this new build student accommodation looked grandiose - turreted apartments in cream and gold, large shining letters telling you the wing names and directions to room numbers above brass arrows, some of which had been stripped off and redirected or just removed. Bloody students. Room 178 was where Pam resided and while Marie clambered out of Mons mum’s car, Mon made a confident b-line in that direction.

Enough had been said on the phone when Marie had told Mon what Aid found at the Crook Inn. Her head was full of why Aid was there and what he had found - but worse than that – the uneasiness she felt that the person she had trusted for a long time had, over the past year been untruthful and worse, could have threatened her safety and had caused the death of a friend and the father of her son.

Stairs led the girls up to a landing. Metal bars attached to a wooden banister used for support. Newly painted black frame preceded windows overlooking the car park and yard. Some students were sitting on the landing, one girl had been crying. Over a boy, they thought, fleetingly and they stormed through the main landing door into the hall which would lead them to Pam's room.

'What you's doing?' a mouthy youth, her hair tied up with neon ribbon, confronted them.

'What’s it to you?' Monica broached the teenager, who retreated to her group at the far end of the corridor with a sarcastic 'wooo'. Mon was in no mood for any nonsense as she clocked the 178 on the door and battered it, before trying the handle.

'She's not in', one of the mouthy lot called out. Marie glanced at Mon, who in turn looked at the group, and then at Marie, before making the decision to crash her size 6 onto the door.

The crowd turned to see the door crash open, while one of the group ran off in the opposite direction. To get security - Marie thought. If it had been Bob the roll of her eyes would follow. Monica was in Pam's room. Marie looked over to the girls who still buzzed about and stared. She gave a wry smile and followed Mon, closing the door as best she could.

'She's not here Mon. What are we looking for?’ Mon was moving items across the desktop over at the window.

'Dunno, dunno. There must be something.'

'We are going to get into big trouble for this.'

'I know, sorry. I just think we need to help Aid and Bob.' Mon paused. ‘For Dev'. They both searched in silence for the thing they didn't really know. Whatever it was that would help.

'Right lets go.' Marie turned to see Mon heading for the door. She made her way over. Opening the door, they crept like criminals into the corridor. No need to try and hide themselves from those who had gathered in the hall. Word had spread that Pam Watters room had been busted.

'There they are!' One girl called out, as Mon and then Marie coasted along the hall. A couple of large football-type boys stood at the far door. They looked at each other and voices called out. 'Don't let them go!' and 'Stop them!' They positioned themselves across the door but Mon was not for stopping. She approached the two men, the first one buckled over with a knee in the groin. There was no break of stride as she continued into the stairwell.

Marie could only muster a 'Sorry' to the other lad, who was not going to get involved now, as she rode on Monica's tailwind.

---

'You are now at your destination', the satnav called out. Not such an accurate address. Spiv had told Bob that when you got to the village, which was like an inland Tobermory with its multicoloured doors and frames, you kept on going until a construction entrance with large steel framed gates appeared on the left. This led to the Wind Farm at Dalswinton and to the cottage where he would find his mate.

'How will I find out which cottage it is?' Bob had asked.

'Well it'll be the one wi’ ma car outside it for a start.' So Bob would find it alright. The road was more track than road, and Bob was glad he had Marie's car, although it gave him light butterflies in his stomach to think what Marie was going to say or do when she realised he was away in it to Dumfries. Flowers and chocs? Shouldn't have to explain. It was for the good of a mate. His mate who if he said hadn't killed a wee lass and his mate, he was going to believe. Surely Marie would be OK. Surely. The track twisted and turned, and as one dip in the road lead to another rise, the first of many Wind Turbines came into view. They stood high and proud, majestic and modern on this remote land. As out of place as the red sports car that caught Bob's eye. A white painted cottage with some smoke billowing from a chimney. Picturesque from a distance, Bob imagined it would be all show and no heart. As he drew closer the shattered dream became reality as the potential dream house showed signs of worn timbers and missing frames.

As he turned into the driveway Bob saw Simon Deuchar puffing on a cigarette arm raised towards him, like someone trying to catch the attention of a mate in a bar, only there was no-one else near here, so Bob acknowledged him with a wave. This was their friendly embrace, or as close as they would get to one. Spiv had grown into character in the short time he had been away. Red lumberjack jacket and a woolen hat. Bob had had the heating on full in the car, while he sat in his work overalls, his own woolly hat lying on the passenger seat.

Bob pulled down the window on the passenger side.

'Where can I park round here?' Ironic laughter made Spiv almost drop the fag end from his lip as he stuck his head in to greet him. A large puff of smoke or frozen air blew across Bob’s face.

'Ah ken, like fuckin Piccadilly round here int it!' The ice was literally broken and Spiv was in good form.

'You want a coffee or a beer or something?' Spiv walked back over towards the cottage while Bob positioned the car beside Spiv’s in front of the doorway. 'Aye, coffee would be grand'

Spiv opened the cottage door, poking his head around the door frame.

'Pam! Go and pit the kettle oan and make Bob a coffee', he bellowed.

---

'Are we going to get out of here?' Marie watched Mon as she leafed through the book taken from Pam's room. It was the first time that either of them had spoken since leaving the Halls of residence.

'What?' Mon was preoccupied, then returned to reality momentarily, passing the book to Marie in the passenger seat. 'Take a look'. She turned the ignition on. People gathered outside the halls in the evening dusk. Lampposts flicked on as the car revved and Mon took them away from their crime scene.

Marie looked out of the window as fingers pointed their way - at the getaway vehicle - she mused.

'Are you looking?'

Marie leafed through the pages of what was Pam's student diary. August to August.

'What am I looking for?'

'What does it say?' Mon stared at the road, but her mind was focused on the book.

The car tore across the road towards Halbeath roundabout. 'Where are we going?'

'To have a look at the diary'. The car barely slowed as Mon pushed it into 4
^th
gear and accelerated towards the out of town shopping area. They were less than 500 yds away from Pam's apartment, but pulling up in the busy car park, Mon felt that this would do as a place to study Pamela Watters diary.

Aid had found a message. A message that they would always remember from when Dev was killed last year. He had found it in the Crook Inn. He had found it in the room where Pam Watters had been staying.

---

The light was dimming and these unfamiliar roads helped little as Aid attempted to get down to Dumfries. The headlights flashed across stockfencing and broken gate posts. Bright light showed a signpost and Aid knew he was a bit closer to Bob and Spiv. He just hoped he would get there in time to tell them what he knew.

‘
Devalue life I am the start

Could it begins, and ending’

Pam Watters. Little Pammy. An add on. Really a non-entity in the whole scheme of things. Not a certainty. But what did they know of Pamela Watters? Certainly they knew more about their mate Spiv. And between them, one of them knew more than they were letting on. One of them had sent Dev to Olive Island. One of them, at the very least, sent Dev to the place where Ollie Ingram’s body was found and, later, where Dev Coulding’s last breaths would be taken.

These thoughts had been hard to figure out – a long drive it had been from Fife to Dumfrieshire. The car had reached Dalswinton village. No lights from shops or pubs here. Just a row of houses in the middle of farmland at the foot of the hillside. Aid pulled into the side of the road outside one of these white houses which fronted the road. Some light remained in the sky, but it was fading fast, and the house lights indicated that someone would be home. There was no sign of Spiv’s car. Or Marie’s. So it was unlikely he was in the right place - yet. He tried his phone. No reception. Had anyone been trying to contact him? When had he last used the phone? Certainly no-one had called since he left or, at least, he had received no calls since the reception had died. The bright green door adjacent to the car was probably as good a bet as any, so he got out of the car and proceeded to click the doorbell. Chime.

It was cold in these southern climes, and he wasn't really dressed for this in his jumper and jeans.

'Whae is it?' an older man's voice quizzed from behind the door.

'Sorry to bother you. I'm just looking for a friend of mine. He’s staying down this way.'

'Uh hu', the voice stood just behind the door and the silhouette of a short man appeared through frosted glass as a curtain was drawn back from the door.

'Simon Deuchar? Do you know him?'

The door unlatched and a key was turned in the lock. Not a Yale. One of those old locking keys with their various sized heads.

'Deuchar?' The old man wore a scarf despite having been locked inside, but Aid said nothing, 'There's no Deuchar’s in the village. Sorry.' He looked Aid up and down. Perhaps to answer police enquiries later should someone in the village report misdeeds at a later date, Aid thought.