Sewing the Shadows Together (13 page)

Tom was aghast. ‘But this evidence is all circumstantial.’

Archie nodded. ‘Baird was definitely odd, which made it easier to pin it on him. He always wore black clothes and spent a lot of time hanging around the churchyard. His bedroom was apparently painted black and he slept in a sort of box, which the press reported as a coffin.’

Rory leant forward. ‘It’s true – I know someone who actually saw it. He was a total nutter – scared all the girls.’

‘Of course, as soon as suspicion fell on him plenty of people came forward to say they’d seen him acting suspiciously. Some teenage girls said he’d exposed himself to them, but all withdrew the allegations later and wouldn’t go to court to testify. However, the damage was done and the police were certain they’d got the right man. Only someone with local knowledge would have known about the culvert, and the fact that the grating could be removed, so he fitted the bill. The press and the public were baying for a conviction and the police had found an easy target.’

Archie paused, but neither Tom nor Rory said anything. ‘So, he’s been mouldering in Carstairs for the last thirty-five years, ineligible for parole because he would never admit his guilt, and because he was considered to be in denial, he couldn’t even get on any courses or training.’

Tom gasped again, astonished at the Catch 22 situation.

‘The only visitor he ever had was his mother – and even she’d helped the police in the original investigation because she thought he was guilty. After she died in 1980 he had no visitors at all and just withdrew more and more into religious mania. No one bothered with him over the years until the Reverend Hamish Mackay, a prison visitor, started to take an interest in his case.

‘He was convinced of Baird’s innocence and persuaded the SCCRC to look into the original case. When the forensic evidence was reinvestigated, DNA tests showed that the semen sample was definitely not Baird’s. Hence the appeal and his release, pending the review court case.’

Tom leant forward. ‘But if they have DNA, can’t they find out who the killer is?’

Archie took another long draw from his pint. ‘You’d think so, but from what I’ve heard, they’ve run the sample through all the databases and haven’t found a match. That means the murderer wasn’t a convicted criminal, and nor is any member of his family. Even if the murderer is dead, they should be able to find out who it was through family matching. A lot of people get found out like this – someone in the family commits a minor offence, DNA is taken and, bingo! The murderer, who thinks he’s got away with it, is traced.’

‘So at the moment the police have no idea who the killer is?’ Tom thought of his father, and his suspicions. He shuddered. The murderer couldn’t be anyone with a criminal record so that disposed of the serial killer theory. He was going to have to go to the police.

Rory put his arm round Tom’s shoulder. ‘It’s bad, Tommy. But with DI Chisholm and ace reporter Archie Kilbride on the case we’ll find the bastard that did this.’ He glanced at his watch and leapt out of seat. ‘Got to go! Sorry boys, I’m late!’ He picked up his camel coat and swept out of the bar with a wave in their direction.

Archie gave a lop-sided grin. ‘Wonder which lady he’s keeping waiting today?’

Tom started to feel an automatic reflex of anger at Rory’s behaviour, but then remembered his night with Sarah, and realised he was in no position to take the moral high ground. But he still couldn’t believe that everyone seemed to know about Rory and just accepted the way he acted.

‘How does he get away with it?’ he asked. ‘I’d have thought the papers would’ve been filled with kiss and tell stories.’

Archie shrugged his shoulders. ‘I don’t know how Rory manages it, but he seems to keep all his women sweet. We don’t have spurned lovers queueing up to sell their stories – as we do with Premier League footballers, for example.’

Tom noticed the glasses were empty and collected them up to take to the bar for a refill. Archie signalled that he was going outside for a cigarette and by the time he came back Tom had lined up the drinks.

‘Bloody stupid law,’ Archie said as he sat down, scattering ash from his jacket and breathing smoke over the table, ‘sending honest tax-collectors out into the cold and the rain.’

Tom took a sip of his pint and looked round the bar. It was strange; he’d never been in the Cafe Royal before but he felt at home, he felt right here. The years in South Africa, drifting from one boring dead-end job to another, through quickly-forgotten relationships, it all seemed so very far away. He drank his whisky quickly and felt a glow of wellbeing. He was even beginning to like Archie.

The image of Sarah’s breasts in her soft woollen jumper sprang into his mind. Archie looked at him. ‘Saw you down at the school with the lovely Sarah. She was a friend of your sister’s, wasn’t she?’

Tom started. Archie was obviously a good investigative journalist if he could read minds. ‘Yes, they were always together, you know, those joined-at-the-hip teenage girls.’ In his mind’s eye he saw them, arm in arm, giggling together. ‘Looking at Sarah makes me realise just what was taken away from Shona. She never had the chance to grow up, get married, have children, a husband.’

He swallowed hard; the alcohol seemed to be affecting him strongly. He awkwardly changed the subject. ‘How come you know so much about the Baird case? You seem to be very well-informed about the investigation.’

‘Contacts, my son.’ Archie tapped the side of his nose. ‘Years of hard graft in the pubs where coppers drink. I’ve lost count of the number of pints I’ve had to buy in the course of duty. It’s hard work but someone has to do it.’ Archie took another slug of his whisky, watching Tom carefully.

Archie seemed to sense his mood and changed the subject to football and the financial woes of the Heart of Midlothian Football Club. Tom leant back and listened gratefully. Archie was an entertaining companion. As he finished his whisky and grimaced at the tales of ineptitude and corruption in the boardroom, Tom found his thoughts drifting back to Sarah. He felt in his pocket for his mobile phone and wondered if she’d sent anything. He’d sent a message saying
wonderful
on his way home last night but there’d been no reply. Still, he knew she was working this morning.

The bar began to fill up with after-work drinkers and Tom realised they’d been there the whole afternoon. Archie stood up. ‘Time for me to go, Tommy, when the drones come in. We’ll be in touch.’ He gave Tom an affectionate punch on the shoulder and, taking a cigarette from his pocket, shambled from the bar.

Tom, who still had a third of a pint in his glass, took out his phone. No message from Sarah.
In town. Fancy a drink?
he typed in. He sat looking at the screen expectantly, disappointed that there was not an immediate reply.

After battling her way through crowds of shoppers on windy George Street, Sarah turned into the impressive bar of the Dome. She found an empty table in the corner of the converted bank, surrounded by pillars and palms, and immediately a waiter came to take her order, lighting a candle on the table. Evening light shone through the huge glass dome above her, casting shadows on the tables, which were filled with business men in sharp suits and well-dressed women with shopping bags. She sipped her gin and tonic and wondered what Nick wanted to talk about.

About ten minutes later Nick arrived, looking smart in a pin-striped suit and spotted tie. He bought a G&T at the wooden central bar and sat down next to his mother. ‘Thanks for coming up to town, Mum. I wanted to talk to you alone.’

‘Nobody has much chance to get a word in edgeways when Granny’s around,’ Sarah smiled.

‘That’s certainly true – but also I wanted to speak to you without Dad being there.’

Not much danger of that recently
, thought Sarah.

‘Well, fire ahead. What is it you want to say?’ Sarah looked at Nick – his fine-boned beauty, his immaculate clothes, his wit and easy charm, the succession of short-lived romances with beautiful, well-bred girls and suddenly she knew what he was going to say. She saw him hesitate; she’d help him out here. ‘Nick, you know there’s nothing you can say that would shock me. Nothing that would ever make me love you less.’

Nick raised his eyes and looked directly into hers. ‘I’ve fallen in love.’

Sarah put her hand over his. ‘That’s wonderful news. Tell me about it,’ she added, thinking carefully about the pronoun.

‘Olly is the most wonderful person I’ve ever met. He makes me so happy. I can’t think of anything else. I’ve wanted to tell you about him but you know Dad, and Granny…’

‘That’s wonderful news. Don’t worry about them. It may take a bit of getting used to but they love you and they’ll be happy if you’re happy.’ As she said it, Sarah hoped this was true.

‘Actually, you don’t seem very surprised, Mum.’ Nick took a sip from his glass and looked at her in a quizzical way.

‘I can’t say that I’d
guessed,
but now you’ve told me it all makes sense. I’ve always had the feeling you were looking for something. I just wanted you to be happy, to find the right one for you.’ She took another sip of her gin. ‘And I’m pleased you trust me enough to tell me now. Tell me more about Olly. I want to know all about him.’

Nick took the opportunity gratefully and in the way of lovers everywhere, eyes sparkling, he described the details; how they’d met, through an old school friend of his, about the small art gallery Olly helped to run on Dundas Street, what a good cook he was, the theatre and the films they went to, his kindness and thoughtfulness. ‘I just love being with him. I miss him every minute we’re apart.’ He looked at his watch. ‘In fact, I’m supposed to be meeting him in the Witchery quite soon.’

‘What are you doing this evening?’ Sarah asked.

‘I don’t know. That’s one of the fantastic things about him. He arranges everything – and it’s always just exactly what I’d most like to be doing.’ He smiled as if he was remembering something extra special. ‘You’ve been fantastic, the way you’ve taken it. Actually I didn’t worry about telling you but, well, would you tell Dad? I don’t know how to.’

‘No, it’s much better if you tell him yourself. He’ll respect you for that.’

Nick raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? He’s always making jokes about queers and poofters.’

‘He meets lots of different people at work and you know he jokes about everything. He doesn’t really think like that.’ Sarah hoped she sounded reassuring enough.

‘Doesn’t he? He certainly gives that impression. But I really have no idea what he thinks. I can’t remember when we last had a conversation, when he ever showed the slightest interest in what I was doing or thinking. He’s hardly ever around and, when he is, he’s just talking this showbiz crap.
Oh I’m such a big star.
’

Sarah was amazed at the bitterness in his voice. Nick had always seemed so easy-going. Had she really been so blind to everything, so worried about keeping up the façade of the perfect family life that she didn’t know what was going on with her own children? She felt herself flush. ‘Does Lottie know, about Olly?’

‘Yes, she’s cool with it. Likes him better than any of my girlfriends.’ He smiled at the thought. ‘Anyway, can’t you tell Dad? And what about Granny? Shall we just keep quiet about Olly with her? I think I’d like to spare him the ritual of the Sunday lunch, if you don’t mind?’

Sarah thought about it. It was tempting just to keep her mother in the dark, but she didn’t want Nick to withdraw from family events because he couldn’t bring his partner with him. Anyway, it was difficult to know how her mother would react. ‘Leave it to me just now. I’m sure there must be one of her Bridge Club friends who has a gay son. You never know it may be the very latest thing in Edinburgh ladies-who-lunch society.’

Nick laughed and put on a mock-Morningside accent, ‘Absolutely, darling, all the very best people have a gay in the family. It might just be the thing to get her full membership.’

They laughed together. Nick looked at his watch and began to shrug on his coat. ‘Sorry, really have to go.’

Sarah heard her phone beep. Another message. She looked down surreptitiously and saw there were now four messages from TM. She looked up and saw Nick watching her.

‘Hadn’t you better answer it?’

‘I will.’ Sarah tried to keep her face straight but she must have had a smile that gave something away.

Nick shot her a knowing look and bent down to kiss her. ‘Have fun, Mum. You deserve it.’ And with that, he waved and hurried towards the door. Sarah’s eyes followed him, pondering what he’d just said. Was she really so transparent? Was her son somehow giving her permission?

She looked at her phone. Tom’s messages started casually enough but became increasingly worried. The last one read,
You OK? Where are you? X

She texted back quickly, her hand shaking with excitement.
In the Dome Bar in George Street. Where are you?

The answer flashed up within seconds.
Five minutes away. Can we meet?

I’ll be here. See you soon x
. She put her phone down, her heart beating with anticipation.

A familiar voice interrupted her reverie. ‘Sarah! What are you doing here all by yourself?’ She looked up to see Patsy bearing down on her, swathed in carrier bags and topped by a purple cloche hat. ‘What a lovely surprise! I was just thinking of you and that we must have that drink together. And now you’re here. It’s fate!’

Patsy sat down in the seat recently vacated by Nick and carried on speaking without waiting for Sarah to answer. ‘I’ve just been shopping and I’ve got the most wonderful new underwear. It’s true what they say about it spicing up your love life.’ She giggled as she began rustling in one of the bags.

Sarah interrupted quickly before Patsy could pull anything embarrassing out. ‘Oh Patsy, I’m sorry. I’m just going. I had a drink with Nick and now I have to get back home.’

Sarah looked towards the door, willing Tom not to come in and stood up quickly. ‘We’ll do it another time soon. I’ll give you a call.’

Patsy’s face fell. ‘Can’t you just stay for one? Surely it’s not so important that you get home now. After all,’ she added with a sly smile, ‘Rory’s often late, isn’t he?’

Sarah moved towards the door quickly, feeling a little guilty as she saw the disappointment on Patsy’s face. Patsy meant well, but she wanted to get too close. Since Shona, Sarah had never allowed anyone near her, not wanting anyone to see beneath the surface of the perfect family life she’d constructed so carefully.

Sarah gave a final wave and mouthed something that could be interpreted as ‘I’ll call you’, accompanied by the ‘phone’ hand signal. She reached the front door safely, relieved that Tom was not quite as close as he had suggested.

Pulling her coat collar up against the bitter wind which was always channeled down George Street, she looked anxiously in both directions. She had no idea where Tom would be coming from. Almost immediately she felt his presence behind her and he leant over to give her a kiss. She turned her cheek and smelt the beer on his breath. She indicated her head towards the door of the bar and muttered ‘Patsy alert!’ before guiding him along towards Hanover Street.

The dusk was falling quickly, but looking towards the Royal Mile she saw the silhouette of the castle, spectacularly back-lit by a shaft of azure sky beneath the gathering clouds. She turned towards Tom and their eyes met. A look passed between them, full of desire.

They hurried towards Frederick Street, their bodies often touching, in the way of couples who want to be closer but are afraid to hold hands. As they walked down the hill, past the darkening shadows of the Queen Street Gardens, Tom brought her up to date with what Archie Kilbride had told him and Sarah gave an account of Nick’s revelation. They were listening to each other, but beneath the words there was the unspoken subtext of lust and need. Their pace quickened as they turned the corner into Great King Street, and up the steps to the front door at 95. Once in the sanctuary of the stairwell, they stopped and kissed and, holding hands, ran up the stone steps.

Sarah put her key in the flat door and realised it wasn’t locked. She widened her eyes and turned to Tom with a warning look. As she opened the door, Rory was standing in the brightly-lit hall.

‘Oh, hello, you two. I wondered where you were, Sarah.’ He looked towards Tom. ‘I expect you’ve been bringing Sarah up to speed with what Archie said. He’s a good man and he won’t be too intrusive.’ Tom nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

‘Sarah, the police have been on the phone. They want to interview both of us about the Shona McIver case. I said you’d go down to Fettes Police Headquarters tomorrow morning.’

Sarah nodded but seethed inside. Why did Rory assume that everything she did was so unimportant that he could make arrangements for her?

Rory looked towards Tom. ‘I did wonder whether I should mention your name but I think it’s better if you contact them. It makes you seem a bit suspicious if you don’t.’

Tom’s mouth fell open, but Rory turned away without seeming to notice the effect of what he’d said. He took his coat from the hook and pulled it on. ‘I said I’d go and see the police when I had time. I’ve got so much to do with
Kidd down with the Kids
at the moment.’ He gave a wide smile. ‘I got some terrific footage last night.’

‘Great.’ Sarah managed to find her voice.

‘I’m going out with the Captain again tonight. I’ve had this fantastic idea to film
Eagle Rising
on Salisbury Crags at sunrise. Having the Captain reading it, sitting on the red stone of the cliffs with the back-drop of the sun rising over Arthur’s Seat will be magic. The weather forecast is good for tomorrow, but it may be the last chance we have for a while so I want to
carpe diem
while I can.’

Sarah nodded, realising that Tom hadn’t said anything since they came in. Rory didn’t seem to notice. He grabbed up his camera case. ‘I’ll be out all night so I’ll see you tomorrow then.’

‘Bye,’ said Sarah in a weak voice, which disappeared into the back of the slammed door.

She turned round to look at Tom and they moved together without a word. Their bodies came together and their lips met. Sarah felt her mouth fall open as she pressed her body against Tom’s. He held her head, his fingers spreading through her hair as he kissed her deeply.

‘Oh Sarah,’ he breathed.

They pulled off their coats and Sarah led him towards the bedroom. They stumbled into the room, pulling off their clothes and fell onto the bed, releasing the suppressed lust that had been simmering since they had met outside the Dome.

As their breathing reached a normal level again, Sarah whispered, ‘Which side do you like to sleep on?’ She felt alive, energised, as if she’d been sleepwalking for her whole life so far, as Tom fell asleep, breathing gently, a smile on his face.

Sarah watched him sleeping, his beautiful features calm, his breathing even. She knew now what she wanted in life. She wanted to be with Tom. She was only fifty, she had many years ahead of her and she was going to take control of her life. She’d spent her whole life doing what was expected of her, keeping other people happy. Remembering something she’d seen on a philosophy programme on TV once, she decided she was going to stop being a tram, she was going to be a bus and decide her own destiny.

Looking at Tom sleeping so peacefully next to her, a momentary shadow of fear passed over her. What if he went back to South Africa? No, he couldn’t. She knew he felt the same way she did. They belonged together. She laid her head on his chest and drifted into a dreamless sleep.

Sometime in the night they woke up and made love again, with slow dream-like movements, the feeling intensified by the hours they had lain with their limbs entwined together.

*

The doorbell rang. Sarah sat upright in bed and blinked in the early morning sunlight shafting through the gap in the velvet curtains. Tom leapt out of bed and started to dress.

‘Rory?’ he mouthed in panic.

Sarah pulled on her housecoat and shook her head. ‘He wouldn’t ring. I’ll go and see who it is.’

Still half asleep she stumbled to the front door and used the entryphone system to ask who was there.

‘Police.’

Sarah felt confused; wasn’t she supposed to go to them this morning? She pulled her housecoat tighter round her and automatically pressed the buzzer to open the front door. She looked at her watch. Five to eight. What was going on?

The footsteps came closer, and she saw two policewomen come round the corner and approach the front door. ‘Mrs Dunbar? May we come in, please?’

Sarah automatically led the police officers into the drawing room.

‘Mrs. Dunbar, would you like to sit down? I’m afraid we have some bad news for you.’

The words burst into her head and echoed through her brain. The words she’d heard on countless police dramas on TV. Her legs went weak and she sank into the corner of the sofa. ‘Who?’ she breathed.